aremikatravelperu

[gregmarriage]

would be sooo funny of my sisters to get pissy, if i date someone with the same name as one of their kids. as if both sisters aren’t dating guys with the same name, who look the same to me, and it’s confusing as fuck to talk about them, because you have to preface which boyfriend you’re referring to.

[berenwrites]

Beyond the Battle - Chapter 44 - Stranger Things - Steddie

Beyond the Battle­: Action & Consequence

Click here for All Posted Chapters

Summary: Steve hits things with a bat or gets hit depending on who you ask. He definitely does not have anything to do with the psychic stuff. That is El’s domain. However, as Vecna is defeated, the rules change.

Pairing: steddie (Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson)

Other Relationships: Steve & Robin, Steve & Dustin, Eddie & Dustin

Rating: Teen

A/N: Multi-chapter story, updated regularly. Honestly not sure how many chapters it will have yet because it's still a bit hand wavy in the middle, but definitely more than 12. Thank you to my beta for find my mistakes and to all those who read/like/reblog.💖 Follow #st:beyond-the-battle for updates.

Also on AO3

Chapter 44. Panic Over?

How he got through breakfast Steve would never know, especially after Robin appeared and kept giving him looks. Clearly, he was not doing as well as he thought, but it wasn’t like he could just ditch when there were guests in the house.

However, the moment breakfast was done, Steve hightailed it to his room with Robin and Eddie close behind. He sat on the bed, doing his best not to overthink himself into a hole.

“Okay, what am I missing?” Robin asked the moment his door was closed.

“I think my mom suspects about me and Eddie,” Steve blurted out as Eddie came and sat next to him.

“Holy crap,” Robin said, sitting down on his other side. “Are you okay? What did she say? Are you sure?”

“Steve, tell me if I’m reading this wrong, but I think she was trying to be supportive,” Eddie added.

Steve nodded.

“Well, that’s good,” Robin said, “that’s great … um … isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he replied, sounding kind of unsure.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want his mum knowing and being okay with it, it was just all the doubts crowding in the back of his head that were doing a number on him. What if they were wrong? What if his mom had just been talking and didn’t have a clue about him and Eddie? Too many what ifs.

“I think,” he added.

Robin took his hand.

“Tell me everything,” she said.

“Turns out I have lesbian aunts,” he said, because it was the first thing that leapt into his head.

Robin’s eyes went big and round and for a moment she looked like she might be having a heart attack.

“Well not actual aunts, but I’ve always called them Aunt Marie and Auntie Annie,” he explained. “God I am so stupid. I never … not even after you came out to me … it never occurred to me.”

“Stevie,” Eddie said, since Robin still seemed to be processing, “when we grow up believing something, we don’t always question it. Your mom literally said, they pretend to just be friends to a lot of people. When did you last see them?”

“About six years ago, I think,” he replied. “They came to visit. They stayed in separate rooms.”

“Yeah, well this is Indiana,” Robin said. “Safest for them, safest for you.”

“I hate they thought they had to hide it from me,” he said quietly, “and they were probably right.”

“No, stop right there,” Robin told him firmly. “I came out to you, and you were nothing but sweet.”

“Yeah, but that was after the Upside Down and Russians, that was after King Steve,” he pointed out.

“And that didn’t all just give you a personality transplant,” Robin insisted. “Maybe it made you think and reassess a few things, but you didn’t just become a different person. It would probably have shocked your socks off, but you wouldn’t have done anything bad.”

Her faith in him was gratifying, but he wasn’t sure he completely believed her. He might not have done anything deliberately, but he’d been a stupid kid. Getting drunk and blurting it all out to Tommy and Carol being one distinct possibility.

“She’s right,” Eddie said from his other side. “You were a bit of a dick at times, but you were never outright mean. If you had been an asshole like Billy Hargrove, I never could have fallen for you.”

“So, back to the point, you have lesbian kind-of-aunts and you mom brought them up at breakfast?” Robin asked.

Steve nodded and began to explain the whole backstory of breakups and girlfriends and falling in love, with Eddie adding in the odd comment.

“Yeah,” Robin said when he finally finished, “must agree with Eddie, I think that was your mom letting you know she’ll be there for you if there’s something you need to tell her. The whole ‘shining example of how love is always right’ part was about as subtle as a brick through a window.”

“So, what do I do?” he asked, because his thoughts were all over the place.

“What do you want to do?” Robin asked.

“I don’t know,” he said, a little bit louder than he had intended to.

“Do you want to talk to her?” Eddie suggested gently, rubbing the back of his hand.

“Yes,” he replied immediately, “but no. God why am I so scared?”

“Because this is scary,” Robin replied. “You have no idea how many times I have played over possible scenarios of coming out to my parents in my head. Most of them are trainwrecks because it’s a really, really scary thing.”

“The scariest,” Eddie agreed. “When I came out to Wayne, I had a bag packed and was ready to make a run for it.”

“What happened?” Robin asked, just before Steve blurted out something similar.

“He hugged me and told me he didn’t care who I loved as long as I was happy,” Eddie explained. “Then he sat me down and gave me the most embarrassing sex talk, I nearly died. I had no idea Wayne knew anything about gay sex, but I guess I must have been giving off some signals, because he had pamphlets.”

“Oh my god,” Robin said with a smile. “I love your uncle more the more I hear about him.”

“My mother better not have pamphlets,” was what came out of Steve’s mouth.

“She’d probably get your dad to do that part,” Robin commented.

“Oh god no, that would be worse,” Steve said, shaking his head. “Mom had to do the whole birds and the bees talk because when Dad tried, he was so awkward about it.”

“Think we might be a bit beyond the safe sex talk anyway,” Eddie commented.

Robin’s gaze flicked between them.

“So have you two..?” she asked.

“I wish,” Steve said, before his brain caught up with his mouth.

His face heated up quickly.

“What Steve is so eloquently trying to say, is no, we haven’t gone all the way yet, but we’ve done more than kissing,” Eddie revealed, “and if you want more details, you can ask Steve when I am not in hearing range.”

At least Eddie’s cheeks were flaming as well.

“So, back to my mom,” Steve said before the conversation could get any more awkward.

“You should talk to her,” Robin said confidently, “but you don’t have to do it right now. If you need time, you can take it.”

“I think this morning might have been your mom’s way to give you an opening,” Eddie added. “That’s probably why she didn’t just come out and say it directly. She doesn’t want to push you.”

“What about you?” Steve asked, looking his boyfriend in the eye.

“Well, I’m kind of terrified your mom might give me a shovel talk to end all shovel talks, because your mom is scary as hell, but I can cope with that,” Eddie replied, leaning into him for a moment. “This is about you, not me. So, whatever you need is okay by me.”

Steve took a deep breath and squeezed Eddie’s hand.

He had never thought about coming out to his mom or his dad, it just wasn’t something he had considered, given how long he had known he had anything to come out about. Maybe in the back of his mind there had been a vague idea, but it had been an amorphous thing. He’d more thought about revealing him and Eddie to the party than to his parents. The last few days had been such a whirlwind on top of weeks of upheaval that it was all a bit much.

“I’ll talk to her,” he decided as he let himself process it all, “but maybe not today.”

“If you need backup,” Eddie said, “I’m always here.”

“Me too,” Robin agreed.

“When you do decide, let me know and I’ll talk to Wayne too,” Eddie added. “He’s far too observant for his own good so probably has us pegged already, but it couldn’t hurt to have another adult who can vouch for the fact I’m not a serial killer.”

“My mom already thinks your adorable,” Steve replied.

He gave them both a smile, dropping their hands and pulling them both into a three-way hug. This was something he was pretty sure he had to do by himself, but he was grateful for their supports.

~*~

When they had come back downstairs after Steve’s freakout, his mom had been perfectly normal, entertaining Robin’s parents and even inviting them to stay for lunch so they could all watch the press conference together. It was due at one pm.

Steve spent the morning with Eddie and Robin, going through their packets of cover story information and discussing it between them. Owens had provided them with an outline, enough to answer questions if anyone threw some at them, but Eddie was a consummate storyteller. As they talked it through, he came up with details they could use to sell it more, which in turn inspired Robin and Steve to come up with their own too. It helped solidify the story in Steve’s head as they fleshed their interactions out a little.

Eddie suggested they get all the kids together to do the same thing at some point, and he could only agree.

He helped his mom put together a light lunch around midday and he was perched on the arm of one of the couches next to Robin with Eddie beside her and Wayne in the last seat, while his mom and Robin’s parents took up the other couch and his dad had an armchair. They had the TV on, on the local news station, but had it turned down for now.

Steve wasn’t sure why he was nervous, but from the way Robin was gripping his hand, he was pretty sure he wasn’t the only one. He wished he could have been holding Eddie’s hand as well, but Wayne seemed to be doing a good job of that.

The cover story was thorough, clever, and covered all the bases. It made them all out to be heroes, which made Steve feel a little uncomfortable, but he understood why. This was to protect them from shady government types by making everyone remember them. He didn’t feel like a hero though. He never had. He’d done what he had to do and that was just the way he saw it.

In his opinion, heroes were people who chose to be soldiers or firefighters or doctors, he’d just been thrown into it every time.

“Here it comes,” Robin said, pointing at the screen.

Steve’s dad turned up the volume.

“And now we go live to Hawkins and our reporter Denise Wellman,” the anchor was saying.

“Thanks, John,” a woman with a microphone, standing in front of the ruins of the town hall said. “Hawkins has been the site of some very strange and tragic happenings since the end of March, but we have been led to believe that these are linked to other incidents which have plagued the town. We are just waiting for law enforcement representatives to begin the press conference.”

Denise went on for a little longer, going over the recent earthquake, the murders and more as she filled in while activity started on the platform behind her. Steve tuned most of it out, just watching as familiar faces appeared on the small stage that had been built for the purpose. Hopper was wearing a suit, which just looked bizarre to Steve.

“Hop scrubs up well,” Eddie commented.

The reporter lowered her microphone as the camera panned away from her and focused on the group of people on the stage. Hopper was in the front, with Owens just behind his left shoulder and Chief Powell behind his right.

“Good afternoon,” Hopper began as silence fell. “Thank you all for coming today. My name is Jim Hopper and many of you will know me as the ex-chief of Hawkins’ police. I’ve been officially dead since the summer of last year, but I will get to that later. I stand here today as a representative of the government and of our town. I know everyone has questions, but I will take them at the end as I have a prepared statement and I thank you for your patience.”

He looked round at his audience with a grave expression on his face.

“Our town had been under a shadow for several years,” Hopper went on. “The first incident which alerted us to this was the disappearance of Will Byers, but unfortunately it goes back further than that. Until now, we were unable to reveal the truth because of an ongoing investigation, but that is now complete. Hawkins had been at the centre of a very dangerous international drug ring.”

A murmur went round the gathered crowd at that.

“A new and incredibly dangerous drug came to the notice of the federal government four years ago, one no one had ever seen before,” Hopper went on. “It was known only as Vecna on the underground scene, and it could be deadly with only one use. No one could figure out where it was coming from. What no one realised at the time was the fact the group behind it were highly organised, from countries all around the world, and had government contacts in those countries.”

“There were no clues until the disappearance of Will Byers. He was the first victim in Hawkins. We believe he saw something he was not supposed to, was exposed to the drug, and left for dead. That he was found by his family and friends and survived is a miracle. Unfortunately, he could not recall what he had seen.”

“Barbara Holland was not so lucky.”

Hopper paused to give the reporters and towns people time to digest that. Steve closed his eyes for a second as that night flashed behind his eyes. He still couldn’t shake the guilt. Robin rubbed his hand.

“Hawkins Lab was being used by its head scientist Dr Martin Brenner and a few select members of his team to manufacture Vecna type 1. Every disaster this town has seen since has been caused by the same source,” Hopper continued. “The accident at the lab which caused its closure and the hallucinations among people in town, the Starcourt mall fire, the murders of our children, and the earthquake.”

“Each of these was the drug cartel attempting to take over our town. They caused the accident at the lab and a chemical leak to drive the government presence out of Hawkins. They built Starcourt mall with the help of Mayor Kline, burning it down to cover their tracks when they were discovered. And their secret, illegal mine under our town, and their testing of their drug on our kids caused everything this year. It has been terrible, but it could have been so much worse.”

“I was recruited by the DEA in 1985 to help them figure out if there were still any cartel agents in town by playing at being a cop who would look the other way for enough cash,” Hopper explained. “And when the mall was torched, I had a chance to go deeper into the cartel. I’ve been undercover since. However, and I cannot stress this enough, we owe our town not to government law enforcement, but to a group of kids and young adults. They are why this town is not a battle ground, and the incident in Lock Nora a few days ago was the cartel’s attempt at revenge.”

The noise from the crowd became much louder and Hopper had to hold up his hand to quiet it down.

“I know that sounds fantastic,” Hopper told everyone, “but it’s the truth. After Will Byers’ brush with death, his friends, his family and those closely associated with them became hypervigilant. These kids don’t let anything get past them. It wasn’t the DEA or the FBI who figured out Starcourt was a front, it was these kids. It wasn’t the government who discovered the illegal mine under the town, it was these kids. Without them, the damage to our town would have been far worse. It was their quick thinking, their heroism which prevented a far bigger explosion that would have turned most of this town to ash.”

“Who are these kids?” someone called out.

“I’ll get to that,” Hopper promised. “First there are a few things you must understand. Hawkins was targeted originally because there is a rare mineral under our feet the cartel needed to produce their new designer drug. The earthquake was their mine going up in flames and the heat opening fissures to the surface. The fissures closed once the fire finally burned out. There was also an underground storage facility of other chemicals which had they burned would have caused an explosion that would have taken out the whole town.”

“The three murders this spring were the cartel testing out Vecna 3.0,” Hopper went on. “They targeted innocent high school kids by doctoring ordinary prescription medication. The drug causes catastrophic seizures and contortions when ingested at too high a dose and can cause psychosis at lower levels.”

“So there was no serial killer?” someone asked.

“No,” Hopper replied. “These innocent victims were targeted by faceless scientists with no conscience.”

“What about Eddie Munson?” another bright spark piped up.

Steve’s heart beat harder at that, even though he already knew what was coming.

“Okay, let’s talk about Eddie. Eddie is the opposite to the lies and slander that have been spread about him,” Hopper said in a tone that begged someone to argue with him so he could punch their lights out. “Everyone in Hawkins knows Eddie used to sell weed. More than a few of you have bought from him. What you don’t know is when he heard whispers about a new dangerous drug making its way into Hawkins, he came to me, way before I was recruited by the DEA. He even deliberately failed to graduate the second time so he could keep an eye on what was going on at Hawkins High. He was also my only contact with the outside while I was undercover.”

“No one is ever going to believe that,” Eddie muttered, the first person to do more than breathe as they watched.

“If I didn’t know the truth, I’d believe it,” Robin said quietly.

“Eddie nearly died trying to get the word out about the mine when he found out about it,” Hopper went on.

“Where were you?” someone asked.

“Chicago,” Hopper replied. “We didn’t know why Hawkins was a focus until we knew about the mine. It’s the puzzle piece that made the picture make sense. After Starcourt we thought the cartel were only mildly interested in Hawkins anymore. Eddie would have died if it wasn’t for his friends, who also happen to be friends of Will Byers. The kids I am talking about are Robin Buckley, Will and Jonathan Byers, Gareth Emerson, Argyle Franco, Steve Harrington, Dustin Henderson, my daughter, Jane Hopper, Jeff Newton, Max Mayfield, Lucas and Erica Sinclair, Frank Thomas, and Mike and Nancy Wheeler. Some of them have been involved since the beginning, some only more recently, but they have all saved this town.”

“When Eddie went to ground and was taken captive by the cartel, these kids went looking for him,” Hopper told the enrapt crowd. “Just like when they heard coded messages at Starcourt mall they went looking too. They found Eddie, got him out and together they all prevented the explosives in the chemical storage facility from going up. Without them this whole area would be a crater. There was also information in the facility which allowed the DEA and other organisations to finally close in on the puppet masters in the cartel. We owe so many lives, local and international, to a bunch of very brave kids, and several of them wear the scars to prove it.”

Steve’s hand went to his neck without his conscious consent. Hopper made it sound like a badge of honour.

“There are more details in the press packs,” Hopper said as he wound up his explanation. “Now I will take questions.”

A barrage of sound came from the reporters and members of the public in the crowd and Steve’s dad turned down the volume.

“Who knew Hopper could be more dramatic than me,” Eddie commented.

 “Maybe he’s a closet thespian,” Robin said in kind.

“Closet what?” Steve asked.

“Actor,” Eddie said without the remotest hesitation.

“Well, he’s definitely got my vote,” he replied. “I would have believed every word he said.”

He couldn’t help noticing that all their parental figures were looking at them a little bit strangely. Possibly their coping mechanisms were showing.

End of Chapter 44

Chapter 45

[messers-moony]

Left | F.H

Paring: Five Hargreeves X Fem!Reader

Summary: Five time travels into the future but is haste to realize his mistake.

His heart was pounding. Heart rate was beyond average. His body ached and yearned for the feeling of euphoria again. The boy’s brain was rushing with thoughts. Every possible outcome, every memory, every word spoken was flashing across his head. But it didn’t matter. 

He left her. 

He didn’t think that it would come to this point. He didn’t know that it would work. Ending up in the future was an accident. He didn’t mean to, and now he was facing the consequences. His breathing sped up, and his throat closed. 

He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t see straight. Everything was dizzy and moving in a circular motion. The food he ate earlier that day for breakfast seemed to want to leave his stomach at the point in time.  

It was lurching and begging to leave his stomach. Bile began to form in his mouth, and he felt sick. It was too much. The boy collapsed onto his knees. The feelings only intensified. He felt as if he was having a heart attack, anxiety attack, and panic attack all at once. 

Looking around at his surroundings only made it worse. Fire was littered everywhere. Destruction could be seen in every direction. Debris and ashes were everywhere. The boy’s face was covered in soot, and his lungs were embracing the smoky atmosphere. 

No one to be seen for miles. No one to be seen at all. It was the end of the world. The only thing left intact was a newspaper that read the date April 1, 2019. Last he checked, it was 2002. Dropping the newspaper down in disbelief, he looked around. 

The boy saw a hand sticking out from the ground. Hesitantly he made his way towards it. Inside the grasp of the hand was a prosthetic eye covered in sticky blood. He took the eye and admired it, trying to figure any sense of clue. Then to take a closer look at the male who was holding the eye. 

Again this male was covered in soot like the boy was. He was probably around his late twenties early thirties. But he looked a lot like Luther Hargreeves, the boy’s brother. He stood up in disbelief and saw a woman. She looked to be the same age with curly ombré hair– brown to blonde. Maybe it was Allison Hargreeves, his sister. 

Another male was found again, the exact age or appeared to look that way. He wore all black and had knives on a belt. No doubt about it, this was Diego Hargreeves. Turning a corner, he saw a curly-haired male with an umbrella tattoo. Klaus Hargreeves. His fears were proven true when looking at the tattoo. 

His siblings were dead. 

Five Hargreeves had traveled seventeen years into the future and saw every sibling of his dead except for two. The boy couldn’t figure out where they were, and he searched for days. There was one person he wanted to see– or so he thought he did.

Her. His pride and joy. She wasn’t exactly ordinary. She had some form of telepathy, and they were trying to figure it out together since she hadn’t been adopted into the academy. But she was his best friend. She was more than a best friend. 

She was his girlfriend. 

She was an all-in-one deal. His best friend, his girlfriend, his partner in crime, his everything, his world, his number one supporter, and most importantly– his future wife. 

This girl made his days so much brighter. The consequences he faced were so worth it for the hours of euphoria he was given when in her presence—the hours of watching movies together or taking naps. 

The times where she would take care of him while sick after he spatial jumped to her house. Even after missions, he felt so exhausted and just wanted to sleep on her bed covered in her scent. Times where he could be her safe place just like she was his. 

His siblings never got to meet her, and now they would never get the chance. He remembered her saying that once she was old enough that she’d get a tattoo of his name on her collar bone– his favorite place to kiss her. 

He always laughed and told her that it was a stupid idea, but she never thought so. It was a promise she made to herself. After his disappearance, it only made her want to get the tattoo more. 

Five years after being stuck, the yearning for her only got worse. The overthinking caused so many anxiety attacks. The ‘what ifs’ began to haunt him. His heart ached for his lover. The girl who was always there was now gone. 

He had to learn to live without her, but he swore to himself once he got back, he’d do anything in his power to protect her. She always felt safe in his arms. While Five seemed sweet and was sweet, he didn’t fear having to fight someone for the people he cared about. 

The boy feared what she would think of him when he returned. What will she say when she finds out I’m mentally fifty-eight? What happens if she figures out I’m an assassin? 

Nightmares were more frequent. Throwing up became normalized. Dizziness became the standard. Lungs aching became ordinary. Heart begging for his lover became common. He was the living embodiment of a mess. Thoughts were scattered twenty-four seven. 

But it didn’t matter because he left her. 

[sebbytrash]

Through His Eyes - Part Nineteen

Summary - Bucky arrives at the compound to start afresh but you and him have a somewhat colorful past, colorful being that you met him once before as The Winter Soldier and it did not go well. New beginnings, yeah? If you can learn to forgive.

Pairing - Bucky x Reader

Warnings -  self reflection, sad bucky, probably swearing

A/N - HERE. I FIX. This is it my pals, buckle tf up. 

HUGE thank you to my other half @manawhaat​ for her exceptional Betaing as always

Through His Eyes Masterlist

It was a cold day, a sharp day. One of those ornery spans of time that climbs inside your skin and lets it’s roots take your bones. The sky is everywhere and nowhere, a borderless open canvas without the depth of sun or the vitality of night. The trees are brittle, breakable and the drying leaves are skittish.

The world around you holds its collective breath, waiting and watching and wondering. The leather of the steering wheel groans in protest as your fingers tighten in time with your inhales. Your thunderous heartbeats reverberate inside the car, the one borrowed from Clint after nearly wearing away the soles of your shoes just to get to his house in the first place, or maybe just inside your bones, shaking you from the inside out. There’s still miles between you and home, still plenty of time to arrange your thoughts, still time to run. 

You won’t. Not this time, and not any other future times that voice in your head might say it, that seductive cowerdess with a honeyed voice. 

Clint’s words were razor-sharp, cutting away those strings of guilt and doubt, the sudden and impossible realisation that perhaps, just maybe, happiness was for you after all. The ghost of the words you’d last said to Bucky came carried on the wind of regret, were all too happy to remind you that, actually, you had discarded that happiness and had no real right to hope for it. So you didn’t hope, you held the prequel to hope gently in your heart, the soft stretch of winds before hope’s flight. 

You left without a plan, nothing but the need to lessen the distance between you and him, no longer ready for his eyes to become a memory or your sheets to lose his scent. It feels like a race, like he’ll be whisked away by the bitter winds that hammer so persistently against the side of the car. But as the miles pass and the sound of your heart slows to a steady gallop, you think and overthink about what you might say, how you might explain your outburst and the following drama but more importantly, how you might say it, those words, how you will admit how you feel. 

Impossible, the coward whispers again, he won’t want you now. 

He might not, you think, but at least you will have tried. At least you won’t have that to regret, too. Simply add the others to a long list of what-ifs and could-have-beens, a pile of chances never taken and moments unlived. This chance, this hopeful not-hope, is the biggest risk you’ve taken in a long time. The thought alone lets you measure just how much you’ve changed, how much he’s changed you. The hollowed out, broken man who quietly put himself back together right under your nose. Even the you from before would have scoffed at the thought of being changed by a man, any man, but it’s true. He changed you then and he's changed you now. 

And, perhaps, the pieces you’ve so diligently stitched back together are better than the whole you were before. Maybe not better...but more undeniably you, real and honest. Honest forgiveness, and then, honest love. The word itself is still a weight in your mouth, tongue and teeth unable to cooperate to let it escape. 

You check your phone at the next set of lights, clear a bunch of useless notifications and find a text from Sam. 

“You can do this.” 

He knows, then. You wonder if Clint told him but more likely, Sam just knows like he always does. Sentient Sam. Well, with the company you keep it’s probably more surprising if he isn’t harbouring some sort of preternatural ability.

The rest of the journey passes in a blur of colour, faded bits of brightness that dull when you look at them too long or too quickly, all the spare spaces in your brain just eaten up by the word you can’t form and yet, the words you need to say. When you arrive, the shared spaces are mercifully empty and you make it to your room without so much as glimpsing another soul, not entirely unexpected given that day had again turned to night somewhere in the miles you’d gone. You shrug off the travel induced grime in a hot shower, as hot as you can stand it, let your tongue gather a few drops like it might loosen it, set those words free. 

It doesn’t. 

Now you sit, perched on your bed, water still dripping from your hair down your neck and back. Ready, but not. 

Without thinking, you lay back, head on the pillow you never use and try not cling to the soft wisps of his cologne, the one he started wearing for your moonlit visits, like a raft against the sea of your own thoughts. A hand clasped gently over your chest, bruised and tender from the furious beats of your furious heart, the other thumb running gently over those scars again. They no longer hold the same power over you they once did, angry raised flesh that shackled grief to your soul, no, now they are just another page in your story. Not the final chapter you once believed them to be. You take a steadying breath, and then another, and think finally, it’s time for the next book to begin.

His door is the same, and it’s not. It doesn’t loom with darkness, instead it stands like the space between stars, dark and filled with potential. You eye it from afar, still hovering on the edge of that hopeful-not-hope and wonder if you stare hard enough you might see within. It remains stubbornly solid, much to your dismay, and so you urge your feet forward, one step and then another until you reach it. You forcibly unclench your teeth and knock, soft enough that you barely feel the scrape of the wood on your knuckles but it swings inwards anyway and reveals a very exasperated Bucky. He stills immediately, mid sentence, face falls off a cliff and lands somewhere between shocked and confused. You want to laugh, and cry, the relief of finally seeing him again threatens to claim your voice from your throat and derail this whole thing before you can utter a single word. You look at him with those fresh, unburdened eyes and marvel, not for the first time, at how very not-soldier he is. 

“Hi,” you say, voice still under siege. He says nothing, simply stares like he’s not sure you're real and so you continue. “Can we talk?”

“Uh…” He blinks a few rapid blinks and comes back to himself. “Yes. Yeah, come in.” He gestures towards the room but when you take a step inside he gives you a wide berth, feet shuffling clumsily to put the coffee table between you. A barrier, a shield.

Your bruised heart aches with every step and the hope flutters a little in protest. It feels awkward as you hover over the couch like you don’t deserve to sit, all the air in the room suddenly prickly, like there's too much air or not enough space between the molecules and you hate it. You hate this distance that’s between you again. The one you created with your panic and denial. 

“You’re back.” He states, eyes wandering over your face like he's checking over those bruises again and you wonder if he’s dreamed of you since, if he’s had a night without you behind his eyelids like you haven’t since this dizzying new world opened up and swallowed you whole. 

The fear gains a foothold, your hope is the oxygen and his quiet apprehension is the flame. “Yeah, like an hour ago.” Say something else, your mind begs, say anything else, your heart joins. But you can’t. Cold dread eats up all the heat in your bones like a slow moving frost, stealing and taking whatever muster you have left. 

“Steve said you went to Clints.” His eyes finally meet yours, ocean filled and storm tempered, simply unable to blink away the rough shores and instead they pour out of him, beating waves against you that make your knees wobble. He looks at you with the same uncertainty he did all those months ago when he first arrived, filled to the brim with those sloth like emotions. If melancholy had a face, it would be his in this moment. 

You expect it, the guardedness and the caution, but it still throws you off when you see it written so clearly on his face, still whittles away at your nerve until the words you need to say are taken hostage in your mouth and instead, “I needed some time,” you begin, fingers picking away at a loose thread on the couch, “Well, uh, perspective, actually.” 

“Right.” He says plainly, clearly unsure what to make of that answer or why you are here in his room saying nothing important with an important looking face. 

“I’m sorry, Bucky.” You admit, finally, choking on the words as you do and stifling the need to take them back, or say them again. It’s a desperate feeling, dry mouthed and aching jaw, frantically turning you in circles to find a whole and complete sentence you might say to ease the look on his face. 

Agony turns down the corners of his mouth and he whispers, defeated but defiant, “Don’t…”

“Don’t what?” Your lungs protest, sudden and sharp, all of your fears leap and dance inside your chest. This is it, the shoe finally dropping. Run,run,run.

“Don’t say that. Don’t be sorry for us.” He begs it, quietly but earnestly, frown deepening as he does. “I’m not, and if you came here just to drive the point home...” He looks away like he can’t bare it another second, eyes shut tight to protect or contain. 

You take a quick, pointed second to delight in his response, “No, Bucky, I’m sorry I left. I’m sorry I said that.” He looks at you, cautiously, guarded, and you ache to smooth the frown from his face with your fingertips or your lips. “I don’t regret it... us. Not at all.” He sinks into the couch, deflating as he does like he expected a fight or a blow and isn’t sure what to do now that it’s neither. 

“I was scared. Shit, I still am. I didn’t know if your feelings were real, if they could be real, or if it was just some leftover need to make up for something that was never your fault in the first place. Or maybe I did it, you know? Maybe I took it and made it into something else. I didn’t trust it.” Now that you’ve started speaking, the words tumble and pour from your mouth, a river of feelings rushing at him faster than he can take and faster than you can say. 

“And then, the dream happened and it just felt like I was hindering your progress. And you were too nice or I was too selfish to do something about it.” The frown deepens again and you can tell he wants to fight you, that he thinks this is something else and so you raise a hand. “Please...just let me finish?” His mouth twists like he's bursting to say something, anything, but he nods anyway.

“I should never have made that decision for you. I know that now. I didn’t see it for what it was. Not until Clint verbally slapped me in the face, I guess.” You smile, a small tilt of the lips and watch him fight to contain his in response, like even now when he has no idea how you feel he still has to smile back so the curve of his lips match your own. “So, I’m sorry. Sorry for taking that choice from you, sorry for doubting you, sorry for leaving, but mostly…” runaway tears slip down your cheeks, the unsettling overspill of regret and longing, “I’m sorry for not telling you I love you, too.” 

“You--” Bucky’s mouth crumples and his face goes tight, eyes squeezed shut and eyebrows bunched up beside each other, he stays that way for several seconds, long enough for your hope to vanish and your gut to roll like you were going to meet your lunch again. 

“Buck?” You take a step towards him and then stop, wondering if that step should have been towards the door instead. If he no longer wanted this version of you who ran and came back, but instead the one who hid behind walls inside her own heart. 

“I want it too much.” He says, finally, and looks at you with the same ocean eyes he always has, a lifetime's worth of hope drowning inside. He smiles your smile and reaches a hand for yours, tentative, soft fingers sliding around your wrist and your skin bounces.

“Me, too.” You let yourself be guided into his lap, his fingers sweeping away the tears that loosen at the sheer weight of your relief, foreheads pressed together and shaking hands clutching onto shaking bones. Your grip on his shirt turns painful, aching to be near and his is just as tight, yet, somehow gentle, balancing all that love on the edge of his smile. 

Cool fingers cup your neck, a thumb pressing gently along your jaw and then he kisses you, his lips fitting together with yours like they did before, his ribs fitting under your hands the same way they did before. Fingers and hands and thighs all fitting together, exactly like they did before. 

The butterflies wreck havoc in your belly, like they did before. 

He kisses you, again, and again, lazy lips and eager tongues, losing minutes to the flush of heat inside your blood and the way the stars sing. You let his lips chase away the fear and let it be replaced with something else, something new but familiar, such a weightlessness that you might float right off the couch if he wasn't holding you like his anchor to the earth. You laugh in between kisses, faces wet and sore from all the smiling and kissing, and smiling. 

After, seconds or hours, you push back just enough to say, hushed against the stubble of his jaw, “I was so afraid you wouldn’t want me.”

“Not possible.” His answer is immediate, without consideration, his thumb trails along your bottom lip and his eyes follow, then he pauses in thought, a shadow passes across his face in an instant but he stays quiet. 

“What was that?” You ask, letting your fingertips find the edges of his frown, fascinated and terrified by how you long for him even while holding him. 

“It’s just... I can’t promise I won’t have any more nightmares. Or that there won’t be bad days, you know?” He says it like it’s an admission of guilt, or like it might change your mind. Your heart twinges at the thought that you put those very particular worries inside his head, that he still doesn’t know what he is to you, the way it reaches marrow-deep. 

“I know. And I’ll be there when you do.” You smile sadly, “I’m not going anywhere. I want this, with you, for real this time.” You try to carve your intentions into those words, try to say it so it pours straight into his veins and is carried right to his heart. 

 He nods, still unconvinced or maybe contemplating, something still waiting to be said and you see him consider it, see him turn it over in his mind a few times before he says. “And I don’t wanna be....I don’t want us to be a secret anymore.” 

That does it, the simple, quiet admission that lets you feel exactly all the ways you’ve hurt this broken-not-broken man without even knowing you were. He’s loved you in ways you can’t even count and all you’ve done is poke at his wounds with oblivious hands and poison coated kisses. It knocks the wind clean out of you for a few short moments, empty lungs grasping at your jagged ribs, before you collect yourself, let every ounce of feeling show on your face and say, “No more secrets. I’m in this, Bucky. I’m in it with you.” 

Stay, stay, stay.

Divider by the super talented @writeyourmindaway​ (You should really check them out, there’s something for everyone!)

[howtosingit]

Fic: shatter every window ‘til it’s all blown away

Carlos visits family in San Antonio while TK faces multiple storms in Austin.

*

Missing moments from 1x04. 

2.1K | Also on AO3

- - - - - -

definitely just saw like 7 tornadoes

wtf

why exactly does this state want to kill me?

Carlos is sitting on his mother’s couch in San Antonio when he gets TK’s texts. It’s the first time he’s heard from the guy in a couple of days, since he left him on his front porch after their date. The silence hasn’t been terrible, if Carlos is being honest with himself. Sure, TK continues to take up space in his head every moment of every day, but the space seems to be getting smaller, or at least less centralized. He thinks that must count for something.

He glances up at the TV across the room, watching the meteorologist report on the major storm system wreaking havoc on Texas. Outside, rain pelts the windows of his mom’s one-story house, thunder roaring as lightning flashes. They’re a little too far south to be facing any tornadoes, but based on what he’s seeing, he can only imagine what kind of chaos Austin is experiencing at the center of the system. 

Behind him, his mother and sisters flit around the kitchen preparing dinner, their conversation barely audible over the thunderstorm. He focuses on his phone again, thinking about how to respond.

Consider that a true Texas welcome?

Are you somewhere safe?

Carlos bites his bottom lip, watching as three dots appear at the bottom of his screen. He assumes that if TK is texting him he’s probably okay, but he’s sure this is the firefighter’s first tornado, so it doesn’t hurt to check. TK has been known to chase danger before.

yeah I’m at work

cowboy judd has us hunkered down until it clears

wbu?

Carlos looks back towards the TV, staring at the map that has taken over the screen. He sees numerous watches and warnings across the state, with a large concentration around Austin. The damage in certain areas is going to be catastrophic.

I’m in San Antonio, we’re just getting heavy rain here 

There’s a pause following his text, long enough that he sets his phone down next to him, leaning forward on the couch to rub his temples. He’s already imagining the crazy workload awaiting him when he returns to town, not to mention all the loss. His heart clenches in his chest, knowing that it’s going to be a long road to recovery for his city.

His phone buzzes next to him.

I didn’t know you were out of town

but I’m glad you’re out of the worst of it

Carlos is already typing a response when another text comes through.

when are you back?

Carlos blinks, forcing himself not to read anything into TK’s messages. They’re friends now, or trying to be, and it’s super normal to ask these kinds of questions. TK’s just being curious, nothing more.

Tomorrow night, I’m working Monday

Just visiting family for a few days, it’s my sister’s birthday

He wonders if he needed to share that last bit. TK hadn’t asked for it, and he probably won’t care what reason he has for being out of town. Carlos sighs, wondering why he feels like he has to overthink every interaction with this man.

tell her happy birthday!

Judd says we’re probably going to lose service soon, it’s getting worse around the station

I’ll text you back when I can

Carlos sends a message telling him to be safe before tossing his phone to the other end of the couch, knowing that if he holds onto it he won’t do anything else until he hears from TK again. His mother finds him a few moments later, biting his fingernails as he stares at the continuous weather report. She runs her fingers through his curls, a surefire way to soothe him.

“I’m so glad you’re here and not in the middle of all of that, mijo,” she says, and he glances up to find her watching the report as well, her eyebrows furrowed in concern. “Are all of your friends safe?” she asks, looking down at him. He nods, his eyes closing as he feels her gentle touch on his scalp. He can feel anxiety rolling off of him in waves. “That’s good,” she says, leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead. “Come help in the kitchen, nene. You need a distraction.”

Her voice is firm, leaving no room for argument. With a sigh, he pulls himself up from the couch, wrapping his arm around her shoulders as they head into the other room, his phone left behind.

- - - -

He’s only about 20 minutes from Austin when his phone rings, the sound cutting through the music blasting in his car. Carlos glances over at his phone where it’s mounted on the dashboard, surprised to see TK’s name on his screen.

The firefighter had texted him once the storms had cleared, letting him know that everyone was safe and the station was still standing. Carlos wished him luck as the 126 headed out into the wreckage, honestly not expecting to hear from TK again before they saw each other at work. 

He reaches out, swiping his finger across the screen to answer the unexpected call. 

“TK?”

There’s a moment of silence before Carlos hears the other man take a deep breath, the sound traveling clearly through his car’s speakers. 

“Hey, Carlos.”

Carlos feels his heart drop down into his stomach at the weak, broken tone of TK’s voice. His mind races with worst-case scenarios, wondering what could’ve possibly happened during his shift.

“Are you hurt?” he asks, trying to keep his voice calm. An image of a battered and bruised TK curled over his desk flashes through his mind, and he presses a little harder on the accelerator, wondering how quickly he can get back home.

“Not exactly. I just…”

TK trails off, hesitating, and Carlos rolls his eyes, frustrated that this conversation is happening over the phone and not in-person. He feels so helpless from so far away.

“Just talk to me, TK. I’m listening.”

There’s another pause, and Carlos swears that he’s about to scream in frustration. He has no idea what’s going on with TK right now, but in the entire time that he’s known him, he’s never heard the other man sound this shattered. Every heavy breath that Carlos hears through the phone feels like a punch straight to his chest.

“We lost someone on a call today,” TK starts, his voice blank. “A dad who wouldn’t let us treat him until we saved his kids. They were trapped in the house.”

Carlos bites his lip, his hands gripping tightly to the steering wheel as his eyes fill with tears. He knows what it’s like to have someone die in front of him, to feel like all he did was stand by and watch it happen. Those are the days where he feels completely useless, like there’s no point in him wearing the badge at all. He knows it’s impossible to save everyone all the time, but he can’t imagine not doing everything in his power to try.

“We got the kids out,” TK continues. “They all reunited, and then he just collapsed. Right in front of all of us. It felt so sudden, and there was n-nothing we c-could do.”

Carlos is shocked by the sound of TK crying over the phone, his breath stuttering over the last few words. He feels a tear of his own fall onto his cheek, his bottom lip quivering at the pain in the other man’s voice. 

Doing what they do isn’t easy. It’s process and procedure and protocol. It’s assessing the situation, finding those who need the most help. It’s quick and sometimes callous, but it’s what they have to do, to be of any real use. It’s tunnel vision and quickest actions, all in the name of saving as many people as they can.

And it always hurts, when someone slips through the cracks; when someone’s pain goes undiscovered until it’s too late. Every time, it makes Carlos want to throw away the rule book, rethink the system, figure out how to make it better. He just wants to save everyone.

“I’m so sorry, Ty,” he says, the nickname slipping through for the first time. He tries to keep his voice calm and clear, for TK’s sake.

The other man doesn’t respond, but Carlos can hear him crying through the phone, quiet sobs rolling through the speakers. He’s just about to speak up, say something else, maybe offer a distraction, when TK’s voice cuts through.

“My dad has cancer,” he whispers, and of all the things that Carlos thought he might say, that revelation had not been anywhere on the list.

“What?” Carlos asks, the single syllable rattling through the air before he can stop it, his heart caught in a vice-like grip of terror for TK. 

The man has already faced so much. 

“I found some pills in his desk,” TK explains. “They’re prescribed for chemo patients.”

“Fuck, TK,” Carlos whispers, running his fingers through his curls as he takes his exit off I-35. “I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah,” TK says, letting out a breath. He doesn’t say anything else.

“Where are you right now?” Carlos asks, a new fear running through him. 

“Home.”

“Is anyone with you?” 

“No.”

“Do you need someone?” Carlos asks, making a decisive turn towards TK’s house. Just in case. 

“I don’t know,” TK says weakly. “I… I don’t know, Carlos.”

“What are you thinking?” Carlos asks, trying to figure out TK’s state-of-mind. He seems a little all-over-the-place, and Carlos doesn’t even know where to begin. 

“I can’t lose him, Carlos,” TK responds, and Carlos can hear the sob in the back of his throat. “He’s all I have here, I can’t lose him. I’m looking around and he’s everywhere and I can’t escape him or, or this image of him just collapsing right in front of me, without warning. Just like that dad did today. What if that had been my dad, and I missed it because I wasn’t paying attention? Because I was focused on everything else and not on the person who was really dying?”

Carlos makes another turn. “I understand that, TK, but it’s not going to happen, okay? It’s not. You know now, and nothing happened to your dad. I know it’s hard, but you can’t get trapped in the ‘what-ifs,’ you’ll drive yourself crazy,” he says, trying to be as soothing as possible.

“I don’t have anywhere to go that isn’t connected to him,” TK continues, “but I also don’t want to leave, because something could happen when I’m not here. I don’t know what to do, and I just keep pacing around the house.”

“Would it…” Carlos hesitates, wondering if he should even offer. “Would it help to have someone there with you, while you wait for him?” 

“I…” TK starts, his voice cutting out. “I thought you were in San Antonio?”

“I just got back, I could be at your place in 10, if you want,” Carlos tells him, already mentally mapping the drive. He turns left, getting closer.

“Are you serious?”

“Of course I am,” Carlos states, his voice firm. “‘Not running away,’ remember?”

There’s a heavy silence following the reminder of their last face-to-face conversation. Carlos pulls up to a stop sign, holding his breath as he waits for TK to make a decision. 

“Thank you, Carlos,” he finally says, and Carlos wonders if he’s imagining the lighter tone in his voice.

“I’m only a few minutes away, okay? Do you want to stay on the call?”

“Do you mind?”

“No, not at all,” Carlos says, his heart feeling a little bit lighter as TK voice strengthens on the other end of the line.

“How was your sister’s birthday?” TK asks suddenly, and Carlos hears the clear request for a distraction; one that he’s more than happy to provide.

He’s in the middle of sharing how he helped his mom with the cake when he knocks on the door to the Strand household. Seconds later, TK throws open the door, his eyes red and glassy as he drops his phone and pulls Carlos towards him. He wraps his arms around TK’s frame, pressing him against his chest as they stand in the doorway, letting TK’s tears soak the t-shirt he’s wearing as he gently strokes his back.

There’s no hesitation, no second-guessing. There’s just a desire to support and comfort and protect.

He can’t imagine being anywhere else.

[omniswords]

Buzz [Luka Couffaine/Marinette Dupain-Cheng]

Sometimes, when you’re trying to move forward, the past tries to find little ways of catching up to you.

decided to write a little one-shot based on this art by @cogamori ♥️ give their work a reblog if you like it! and i hope you like this fic too! thank you in advance for any reblogs!

💙🎶💖

Marinette wakes up before the alarm is supposed to go off. Again.

It’s nothing she’s not used to, especially these last few months. Sometimes it’s just a few minutes that she has to spend dreading until the chimes sound. Sometimes it’s almost an hour that she passes under the covers, shaking her legs and trying to rock herself back into some calm that never comes. It doesn’t matter; her heart always pounds, and her skin always buzzes, and it’s been impossible to find a way to get it to completely stop.

Well. Near-impossible.

When she stirs, she’s all too aware of the arms wrapped around her, keeping here in, telling her not to go. of the chin her head is tucked under, and the legs tangling with hers in the early summer heat, and the body pressing against her back.

She smiles to herself.

Luka. He’s still here.

Of course he’s still here, she chides herself, still half-asleep. He’s always been here, and he has no reason to go, and he said it himself. He’d be here. Not always, but as much as he could be. And certainly when she needed him most. It’s the entire reason he’s here in the first place: he knew she had to take the bac this week, and he made it a point to help her destress, even now that every exam is done. He’s good to her, because according to her, good things are what she wants, and according to him, good things are what she deserves.

As if sensing her already overthinking, he pulls her closer in his sleep. The scent of his cologne still lingers in the air around her—maybe it’s even seeped into her pillows by now—and it takes a surgeon’s precision and a spy’s stealth to twist around and face him without waking him. He always looks so handsome when he sleeps, with his brow smoothed out and his muscles just barely tense from holding her. With his skin tanned from working in the sun and warm from keeping so close. If she looks at him any longer, she just might bury herself in him, and never know when she’d come out again. She could just lean forward… and…

Something buzzes in the air, snaps her out of it. It’s not her emotions—it’s not even her body. It’s coming from behind Luka, muffled by the blankets. Her phone, probably; he always made it a point to keep their phones out of reach at times like this, just so that they could focus on feeling okay. But if it keeps going off with notifications like that, it could wake him up, and when he looks like this mere centimeters away from her, that’s the last thing she wants.

It takes even more stealth to lean over him and fish her phone out from under the covers. She won’t do much��just put it on Do Not Disturb mode and tuck it away for later, maybe even turn off the alarm so they can enjoy their time together a little larger. If anything, she’s honoring their system. Even though she knows, deep down, that she doesn’t have to keep justifying it to herself when Luka takes more things in stride than she ever thought was possible.

It’s just that the messages on her lock screen stop her heart, however briefly, as soon as she sees them. Three in a row, barely spaced apart, and then one more several minutes later.

All of them are from Adrien.

Hey, Marinette. How were exams for you? I bet you nailed them no problem.

Anyway, I was just… thinking, a lot, lately. About when you told me about your feelings. I know. It’s been three years since then, and I know I kept choking up and hesitating, and I know all I told you in the end that you were a great friend to me and I cherished our friendship, but.

I… think I get it now. The feelings. I’m ready. And I’m sorry I kept you waiting. So do you want to go to a movie on Saturday? My treat.

…Marinette?

Her stomach lurches, and her blood chills, and her chest goes tighter than she would have ever liked it to. She squints at the words, over and over. Blinks at her name on the screen against the background—a selfie of Luka kissing her temple with a smile he can barely hide.

She barely lets herself think about it. It’s not worth the rabbit hole of what-ifs. All she does is unlock her phone with a groggy expression, tap over to her private messages, and delete the conversation.

That’s all. What else could she possibly need? What is there to wait for?

It’s as she’s tucking her phone under her pillow, face-down, that Luka stirs behind her. He grunts, still half-asleep, and his hands skim her belly just under her shirt as he pulls her closer still. Like he’d pull her into him if he could. He buries his face between her neck and her shoulder, hums in satisfaction as he kisses her here warmly. “Rest,” he mumbles, squeezing her hip and stealing another kiss to her jaw. “You should rest.”

“I’m resting, I’m resting,” Marinette insists softly, catching his hand and laying it on her stomach again. “Promise. I just woke up a few minutes ago.”

There’s a pause; Luka presses his forehead to her shoulder as though he will never have enough of her. "Somethin’ wrong?" he asks. “You’re all over the place.” His hand slides up, up, until her breath hitches in her throat… “I can hear it.”

He must feel it, too. That, and how she shivers under such sleepy, affectionate touches. Haltingly, she rolls over to face him, and immediately bumps noses with him. His eyes are barely open; hers quietly follow the slope of his nose and the curve of his lips, the ridges of the muscles in his bare arms and the shadows of his eyelashes over his cheeks. How he rests comfortably against her long cat plush and welcomes it instead of teasing her for it. How he hardly has to look at her to adore her in the late afternoon. How, when life is either too boring or too busy, she’ll look back on this photograph of a feeling and miss it. “How long?” she murmurs. "How long did I keep you waiting for me?"

How ever long it takes Luka to fully wake up, it takes him equally as long to register her question, equally as long to think about it and what she must mean. He smiles, and shakes his head—he must be used to all the ways her mind runs away with her by now—and he reaches up to brush a stray lock of hair from her face. “You didn’t,” he tells her. “I never thought of you as someone keeping me waiting.” This time, his hand slips to the small of her back, holds her there so firmly that the warmth of it floods her whole body. just as he buries his head in the crook of her neck again. “I never expected you,” he breathes. “I just loved you, whether you would one day or not.”

Marinette bites her lip, and shuts her eyes, and threads her fingers through his hair. She can’t tell if the words are tickling her or twisting up her insides, but she wouldn’t dream of it ever stopping. “Luka…?”

“Do you love me?” He’s shifting on top of her, golden in the sunlight of half-past six, looking at her like he already knows the answer. “Do you love me back?”

He leans over her, cradling her cheek, and the way he looks her up and down isn’t lost on her: fanned-out hair and hooded eyes and his Jagged Stone T-shirt that’s far too big for her. She smiles up at him, and turns her head to kiss his palm, and when she nods, quick and bashful, it feels as though there are few other things she’s been so certain about.

One of these comes first: either Luka bends to kiss her the rest of the way awake, or her phone goes off yet again under her pillow. one of them comes first, but between Luka’s callused fingertips and his mouth on her neck and his comfortable weight on top of her, she hardly cares for the buzzing of her phone, even as her alarm goes off and she pauses only to silence it. It’s the kind under her skin, for once, that matters much more.

[buzzcutlip]

The virus and quaranteening have made us do unthinkable things. Here I am, posting a very self-indulgent piece. I wrote it purely for my own entertainment, then I read @wyn-dixie ‘s posts, had a chat with her, and she’s actually helped me to not overthink fanfiction and to publish the story. It might brighten up someone’s day after all :) So here’s one for the lovely O! Please if you don’t like this sort of real person x reader stories, then don’t read it.

The Kiss Pedro P*scal x you

You tilt your head down to peer at Donkey; his coat tickles. You rub your nose sleepily. The late afternoon light is coming to the room through the cream-coloured curtains. The sofa is soft and the blanket is cocooning your body perfectly. You feel comfortable and groggy, ready to fall asleep again but fighting it.

When you look up, Pedro’s brown eyes are trained to your face. You don’t know what to do with that. He’s wearing a plan gray t-shirt with no logos and jersey shorts. And he'd gone out like that, you almost scoff. As usual, his overgrown hair is a mess. Pedro doesn’t deny to you anymore that he knows how to style it.

“He’s a good sleeping partner, isn’t he?” Pedro says, crouching down next to the sofa, getting into your immediate proximity. Before you have a chance to say something back, Donkey’s ears twitch and he lifts up his head.

Pedro lets out a quiet laugh, stroking his head that’s popping out from under the blanket. Donkey licks his hand lovingly, then jumps down to the floor in a second

Without the dog, the atmosphere changes to heavier right away.

“I bought some strawberries and apples,” Pedro says, glancing over his shoulder, probably to the kitchen area. You nod, not knowing what to reply. This is his apartment.

He shuffles on his feet awkwardly, and you can’t believe that a grown up man can get this self-conscious. You don’t know Pedro like this. Well, not really.

“I’m sorry for before.” The situation is ridiculous. Him, standing by the sofa, looking as a stranger at his own place. You, just having woken up from napping on his sofa. “It’s fine. I’m sorry too.” You keep the words carefully neutral. You are not lying. “I shouldn’t have left like that.” “You needed space.” “I should have said something.” “I whish you had,” you admit, looking down at the blanket, picking up at the loose strings coming off of it. You don’t want to cry, but you feel how heavy the moment is. You are not used to having these talks. Normally it’s all jokes and laughs. You are good friends. If sometimes you think of his hands on you in different ways than throwing you into the swimming pool or tickling you while watching a serious movie, then it’s your own problem. Pedro crouches down again, and you want to point out that Donkey is not here anymore, but this time he reaches for you, laying his hand softly on the crown of your head, his thumb resting on the top of your forehead. He strokes you gently, in the most intimate manner. Your breath hitches in your chest. You don’t do this either. You are affectionate but not like this; actions heavy with maybes and ifs. “I- ,”you breath out before cutting yourself off, not really knowing what you want to say. He’s still looking at you, and his lovely brown eyes are soft and searching. “Pedro,” you say, getting up on your elbow. There’s hair stuck to the side of your face, and before you have a chance to unstuck it from your cheek, he does it for you. Your eyes flutter shut of a moment, heart hammering. “What are you doing?” you whisper. This is not an accident, and you are not reading too much to Pedro’s actions. This is simply not how you behave around each other normally. With a bold move, you take his large hand into yours, squeezing his fingers that had been in your hair just seconds ago. You can hear Donkey drinking from his bowl in the kitchen, and faint noises from the street below. Otherwise it’s quiet; the time is still. To lighten up the situation, you reach and grip his stubbly chin lightly, huffing a nervous laugh. He parts his lips on a soft exhale, the air hitting your own face, and your eyes are forced to flick there. When you dare to glance up at Pedro, he’s looking at your own mouth. Face flushing instantly, you fight not to squirm with unease, completely lost for words. “Can I kiss you?” Pedro says, finally looking up from your lips and meeting your eyes. You bite your lip. Oh god. “Yes.” Pedro shuffles, kneeling up, while you fully sit up. The moves bring your faces much closer, and you can’t believe that you’ve lived up to this moment. One that you had been scared to ever dream about. But you have. More so since the night of the stupid “spin the bottle” game. Boldly, you lean in first, impatient to snap the tension that’s grown around you. You can smell his Loewe cologne and the familiar laundry detergent, as you place a very light kiss on his right cheek. It’s not so about the mouth on mouth action - it’s about the anticipation, the closeness, the way how the bond between you is breaking and being put together again in a slightly different way. Pedro lifts up your connected hands and kisses the top your knuckles, while you are watching him to do so. Then he laces your fingers together. That crease between his brows appears, as if linking your hands was some kind of a scientific equation; as if you were one. Your fingertips slide against each others, and you wonder if you will ever have the chance to map the veins and knuckles with your tongue. Pedro’s breating has grown deeper, you can tell from the way his chest expanses and deflates, brushing against your upper arm. You take in his broad shoulders and his long throat. It looks vulnerable this close up, the thin skin flushed and soft. The next kiss lands there, just to the left from his Adam’s apple. You linger there this time, putting off meeting his eyes again, having him look at you and see what’s showing on your face. You are not an actress with the ability to guard your expression. The skin of his neck is hot against your lips, and after two or three pecks, you open your mouth slightly to get more taste. Pedro inhales sharply, and you literally feel the sound that revibrates through his throat. He tilts his head and kisses your temple, your hairline. It’s sweet and innocent and perfect, being so close to Pedro is also intoxicating. Your touches grow bolder and you stroke his arms and lay a hand on his chest, his heart hammering under it. Pedro tucks your hair behind your ears, brushes his thumbs against your jaw and ear lobes. He stalls there, mouthing softly against the ear shell. Thousands of goosebumps break out everywhere on your body, the hairs on your arms erecting. You accidentally let out a helpless sound, and you can feel Pedro smile against your cheek in return. “Are we kissing yet?” he asks, voice innocent but laced with something darker. You hum, not daring to speak out loud. His mouth is so close. “I just-” you murmur, careful not to brush your lips against his cheek. It would be so easy. “I want to postpone the first kiss a bit,” you explain. “You know, there’s only one first kiss. And I’ve been waiting long enough. I want to stretch out the anticipation.” This was way too honest, you realise. On the other side - Pedro wants to kiss you too. There’s nothing to hide anymore, and you might as well take a full advantage of the situation. And stating the truth - that’s just very you. “Right,” Pedro nods. “I get it.” He is a good boy, not moving an inch, letting you take the lead and do as you please. You kiss the corner of his jaw and then closer to his chin, up his cheek on the point of his cheek bones. His stubble is rough against your lips but you don’t mind. Pedro lets out a content sigh and hangs his head low, letting you work. You tilt his face with a gentle hand to his jaw, turning it and repeating your motions. Kiss to the jaw, kiss to the cheek. One kiss to the corner of Pedro’s mouth and another one even closer. His hand is warm when he lays it to your bare forearm. That’s when you decide to press a single peck to his mouth. Then once more. A dry kiss. When you open your eyes and lean back, Pedro is looking at you. “Good?” you check with a little smile, and he smiles back. You both lean in this time, trading a few longer, close-mouthed kisses. You concentrate on the texture of Pedro’s lips under yours. They are a bit chapped and very very warm, burning against yours. Cupping his face, you run the tips of your fingers through his beard. Just the fact that you CAN is - liberating. His skin smells different from his clothes, that you are used to. More like him; like flesh and sweat and moisturizer. “Will you let me taste you?” It’s Pedro who speaks up now. His words catch you by a surprise. Used to his sweet moderation, this is unexpected, making your cheeks heat up. After a short nod, Pedro palms your cheek and brings your face close to his. This time you part your lips when your mouths meet, catching the corner of Pedro’s bottom lip between yours. It takes only a few seconds before you coordinate your moves. You touch your tongue to Pedro’s instinctivelly, as soon as you feel it against your top lip. The tiny point of a connection sends a powerful spark through your body. You can’t contain the sharp intake of breath as you kiss carefully, your free hand slipping in Pedro’s soft curls. Your other hand is still holding his, palms sweaty. The taste of him is intoxicating. Better than anything else. As the kiss deepens, you pull him on the sofa by his shoulders. Chuckling, Pedro goes willingly and you catch his eyes in the process. His neck is flushed, matching the colour of your cheeks, his lips already look swollen. Or you want them to be. You accommodate his narrow hips between your thighs, the woolen blanket creating an additional barrier between your groins. Pedro leans down and kisses under your jaw. “Sweet,” he murmurs.

[whereflowersbloom]

Drunk on the idea of us

Raven was a light sleeper but she was surprised when she woke up in the middle of the night, hearing someone knocking on her room’s door. It couldn’t be an emergency, there’s no way she didn’t hear the alarm first. She slowly rose out of her bed, quietly pulled the door open to reveal, a very drunk Damian.

“You do realize it’s 3:15am and we both have training first thing in the morning.” She sighe trying to process what was happening. This was so unlike him. Whatever was going on it was something was obviously bothering him.

Standing in front of him arms crossed, she noticed how his eyes even if a bit unfocused, were studying every corner of her room until they fell back on her. They always found a way to make her feel exposed. His first words confused her even more.

“You’re so tiny.”

She wasn’t sure she should feel offended by his comment. But then it was her first time dealing with a drunk Damian Wayne. She was distracted by the mixed feelings coming from him when she felt him put his hands on her shoulders, as if trying to find balance. He leaned closer to her. She could feel the heat of his breath on her ears.

“You smell so nice. You always do.” His speech a bit slurred. Raven hid the blush on her cheeks and shock from his words, pressing her face against his chest. She couldn’t look at him. Control. She needed control over the situation. She swallowed , trying to ease the tightness in her chest and focus.

“Why are you really here, Damian? You don’t usually drink like this. You never do.”

He took a deep breath, the alcohol in some way insentisied her essence. He straightened himself up and looked at her. His hands went to her face but he said nothing. Her beauty intoxicated his senses, and he desired her.

Raven exhaled, identifying a feeling of disappointment? What was she expecting? “Maybe you need to rest for a bit, if you aren’t up for talking , huh?”

“I’m not that drunk, Raven. We do need to talk. I know you’re upset, even if you’re trying to hide it.” He said suddenly sounding very serious, for someone who is clearly drunk.

“I’m not upset. I’m simply surprised you’re here.” She shook her head. Realization hitting her. So he noticed.

“That’s not what I meant. Don’t lie to me. We don’t lie to each other.” He said raising an eyebrow in challenge.

Right.

His lie detection ability was inconvenient at times like this. Identifying even micro-expressions. There goes her cover.

“Alright, Boy wonder. Perhaps, I have noticed your secretive behavior lately. I know you and Jon are keeping something from me.” If it was honesty hour. She could use it to get some answers. “Don’t misunderdtand, I don’t mean to pry. I just thought we were...” her mouth hesitated, choosing the word carefully. “...close.”

She managed to sit on her bed, awaiting his response. it was finally out, off her chest or part of it. Somewhere along the way, becoming team mates first, then friends. Friends. It didn’t feel right, good enough to describe their bond. Not at this point anymore or in her heart.

“I was out with Jon, having a few drinks to gather courage. You’re partly right, something did change.” He whispered in the dark.

She heard footsteps coming towards her bed. Immediately, Damian was sitting next to her. “But don’t misunderstand. It isn’t what you’re thinking.” He shook his head and stroke her cheek tenderly. She hoped he was drunk enough not to notice the blush which was painted over her cheeks. Why did drunk people have to be so close when talking? If only he moved a few inches, to break the distance.

“Look, I know I’m not a very open person, specially when it comes to talking about my private life and sharing feelings. But this involves you now. I wasn’t entirely sure...how to handle it. So yes, I went to Jon for advice. I didn’t want Grayson gossiping my private affairs before...” he groaned in frustration. “What I’m trying to say is, I didn’t intend to keep secrets from you. Ever.”

He frowned suddenly, closing his eyes and letting out an annoyed sound. “Fuck. This isn’t coming out right. I knew I needed a plan. I’m messing it up.”

She blinked shocked by his words. Still trying to process his speech. Damian Wayne was sitting on her bed, evidently drunk, asked for advice, now talking about feelings involving her. Oh Azar. Does it mean he feels...? A spark of hope shinning. This wasn’t the same proud, snarky, insufferable kid who joined them years ago. He had changed, matured, she knew. But. Her damn insecurities. Could she trust his words and the meaning behind them in his current intoxicated state? When her pounding heart just wanted to scream ‘I’d take you in a heartbeat’.

She bit her lower lip, thinking what to say, anything that makes sense and let her take control over her emotions.

He opened his eyes, looked down at her face with a different expression. “Don’t do that.”

She was about to reply to his demand when his thumb moved to her lip, forcing her to stop biting her lip. “I can’t focus when you do that.” He whispered softly.

She swallowed a bit, and tried to regain some common sense. When did she start allowing him to touch her? When did this all start? That awkward moment at the Ferris wheel, when she recognized the loneliness in his eyes? She was the one who wasn’t drunk, so she had to think clearly.

“I know this is complicated. But you have to be honest Damian. I want to hear it in your own words. Why did you get drunk?” She asked softly. “I’m here and it’s just us.” She squeezed his big hand reassuringly, smiling.

Damian sighed, his whole body relaxed, feeling the warmth of her hand in his. “Because you’re my kryptonite in some way. Also, because of me and how much frustrating it is not to be able to do and say what I want to you, when I’m sober, analyzing, overthinking everything like a madman.”

“I feel this unbearable tiredness consuming me sometimes. Holding back all the damn time. I swear I want to give it all up, to hold you only for a couple of minutes.” His voice sounded drained. “Oh, teach me how I should forget to think.”

He wrapped his arm around her, drawing her gently against him, her head pressed to the warmth of his solid chest. Indeed, she was so tiny next to him. This felt so right and familiar. She wondered how long they would have this moment, if there was something that could make him give it all up, the stress, expectations, worries, just so he could take a breath for once and not think about anything. Have this moment together.

“I like being close to you.” He whispered like a secret in the darkness of her room. “Me too.” She also confessed, smiling softly.

There was a pause, their voices going silent before he spoke again. “ I wanted to kiss you.” He admitted with such raw honesty.

Her breathing quickens at his confession. He was still drunk, probably not in his sane self. She bit her lip hesitating but she wanted to ask. She needed to.

“When?” She breathed out into the dark.

“The first time? I’ve wanted to kiss you for a while now. I suppose I finally accepted it, last New Years party. When West was buzzing around you like a fly. His ridiculous attempt to impress you almost made me lose my temper.” He growled lowly, with a bit of jealousy in his tone.

“Damian Wayne gets jealous. Who knew.” She giggled as the memories of that night popped in her mind. Damian looked like he was about to punch someone and Jon was busy getting his attention, convincing him to play a cards game. But even back then, there was only one name engraved upon her heart.

“There’s nothing to be jealous of that frisky speedster. He’s just another unavoidable irritation.” He said annoyed at the thought of the young speedster.

“Almost? And that’s why you almost break his leg the morning after, during training, right?” Raven smirked.

“It isn’t my fault he wasn’t fast enough to block my moves. They do say all’s fair in war and love.” He smiled proudly.

Her mind went back to his confession before. She shouldn’t ask now. She shouldn’t push it. She should wait until he was himself enough to talk about this properly. “Do you still want to-“

“Always.” He answered her question, no hesitation. He chuckles a bit quietly. “I always think about kissing you, and what would be like, before I persuade myself how much of a bad idea it would be. Whenever we are training, enjoying a cup of tea, when I catch myself looking at you longingly, every moment we spend alone. And then once again I think about how good it would feel, because how could it not, when I can’t seem to get you off my mind. Then I scare myself with how badly it could end and ruin us.” He sounded more coordinated now, he was being completely open with her. No filters or holding back anymore.

Why?

She opened her eyes. She knew why. Because it would change everything. Teammates, friends, lovers was taking another dangerous step.she battled with this every time she thought about the possibility of a future ‘us’. But she’d had enough of the potential outcomes and what-ifs.

“I want to kiss you, too.” It was easier to reveal it into the dark. “I would never leave you. Whatever happened or we ended up being. I wouldn’t leave you, Damian.” She said with more confidence she ever felt and realized she truly meant it. Whether they were only friends, broke up, because of one of the millionths of things that could go wrong. Raven liked him too much to let him go. She’d always stay.

He swallowed a bit. He leaned closer to her, he pressed his forehead against hers, still looking at her with tenderness. His vivid green eyes stared into her with passion and desire. He whispered into her ear softly “Stars, hide your fires, let not light see my black and deep desires.”

Oh. Shakespeare.

He cupped her pale face between his hands and ran a thumb over her lips. “Do you have any idea how insanely beautiful you are?” His touch felt like an electric current running through her body.

“Your violet-blue eyes are the night sky filled with shinning comets.” He said delighted in her beauty.

She should have pushed him away and told him to wait until he was sober. For a long time she didn’t think she deserved a love like this, the passion, the spark, but she wanted it. They both craved it tonight, needed each other like a drug.

She could only be a slave of her own heart and the existence of her love for him. She never had a choice in this, right? Who could resist Damian Wayne?

He whispered words in some unknown language but his eyes spoke clearly ‘You’re only mine.’

He pressed his lips against hers. The moment they touched it was like everything exploded inside her and around them. Raven couldn’t help buy completely melt against his broad chest.

His kiss was wild and heavy, and it caused her to get lost in the feeling of absolute bliss, as their hands run over each other bodies feverishly looking for new skin to touch, grip or pull.

She broke the kiss in need of air. “That was one hell of a first kiss. You should have warned me.” She managed to say her lips hurting a bit from the heated kiss.

Damian smirked “The warning was implied that all is fair game.”

“Oh. When?” She asked as she raised her eyebrows questioningly.

“The moment you started biting those addictive lips of yours. Warned you, not to do it.” He looked the happiest she’s ever seen him since he joined them team.

They ended on her bed, lying there, wrapped completely around each other. Her cheeks were flushed, her full lips, had become swollen from their kiss. Damian tracing the curves of her body, slowly before speaking. “As much as I want to continue, I’d rather do this when I’m sober. When we’re both ready. I want to memorize every detail.”

“Does this mean it’s official. Us? We are telling the others about us.” She asked playfully.

“If that’s what you wish, beloved. We will let everyone know.” He said pressing a kiss to her forehead. “But don’t misunderstand, my love. After a customary period of proper courtship, I plan on asking you again. Officially introducing you to my family as my lover.”

“I know.” She said smiling. Thinking about it. Dick and Jon would have so much fun in the next couple of months. The Tower will be a mess. “We will think about it all tomorrow. For now we should sleep.”

Murmuring sleepily, she snuggled closer and Damian slid an arm around her waist. Enjoying the way her curves fitted against him. Their breathing slowed down and finally both dozed off.

***

[depreshroom]

Analyzing Krel: Episode 3

It’s been more days than I wanted it to be and I’m sorry. But, here it is! t The next episode has more insight into him  but this one did have some really important messages so, y’know here I am.

To start off, we have the 3 rules of humanity after Aja and Krel are caught washing their hands with orange juice and eating messily at lunch..

-Those three rules being: 

Prepare for change

Embrace your mistakes

When in doubt, play with your phone.

Each of these are shown to be very important as 3below goes on, of course, Aja and Krel misunderstand it at first but the point here is their great enthusiasm. They really are trying their hardest. Aja had taken a bunch of “change” to school and of course Krel tried to hug Mrs.Janeth. Multiple times. At the end, when being confronted, Senor Uhl approaches them about their mistakes and they play with their phones. No, it doesn’t work but eventually we will see how these rules affect Krel..and maybe Aja too.

They come home, frustrated because the rules didn’t work out and Krel decides to make a mind reader. The first noticeable thing about this is, as we come in to see him work, we see him vibing for the first time in the series. Krel is simply in his element. He has his music, and his tools and he actually seems like he’s having fun.

Aja even asks if he’s having a very small party. I find it important that although he still views the planet as primitive at this point, the first time we see him truly enjoying himself is not on akiridion-5, but on Earth with music---something that came from Earth. He also is without anybody watching or judging him contributing to his more introverted personality. -He likes having his own down time--he needs his own down time.

Skipping towards after they destroy the planetarium, they sneak out to go find the mystery extraterrestrial (who we later learn is Stuart.) As with most episodes, this is kind of the peak, the message, and the point. Aja goes to look across Arcadia, and see what everyone is thinking. 

-Krel tries to use it, but says he isn’t picking anything up and fails, so instead of trying again he gives up. He simply says that “it’s hopeless.” That was something I thought was significant--that he gave up once he saw that he couldn’t do it, and he was only there for a small amount of time. As soon as he saw it wasn’t working the first time his immediate thought was to say not only that he cannot do it--but that it cannot be done at all, “It’s hopeless” This is before Aja tries, and really he wasn’t planning to give her a chance and I can only assume that this is because to him tech is his thing. It’s the one thing that Aja can’t have.

Then Aja says to let her try. The first thing I noticed about this is that Krel is really nervous and on-edge about his sister using his invention. He didn’t just say “be careful” multiple times but it was almost like he was mildly freaking out.  

Krel, (after she forcibly takes it away): Fine, but we need to increase it slowly.

Aja: Like this?

Krel, (said with annoyance): Not at all like this.

That’s the entire conversation before immediately x’s start to appear maybe one second after the other around his head, giving insight to his thought process as the mind reader is supposed to do. And what I find interesting about this is Aja didn’t even do anything, she was simply looking at him. Those x’s came fast too. By the quickness of how they appeared, it gave me the impression that it was to represent how fast his mind was going just seeing someone who admittedly can be quite reckless with his invention. It was like a small spiral, a chain line, as if he started thinking that Thing A might go wrong, only to realize that Things B, C, D can go wrong too.

Which is where his voice eventually cracks in desperation, as he says, “What? No! You’re gonna break it!” 

Aja still hasn’t even done anything so it was basically Krel just overthinking, overwhelming, and worrying himself in a matter of 10 seconds or so. Of course, Aja tells him to relax, and even as he does shut up for then, he is looking over her shoulder to make sure she isn’t messing anything up as she uses it. What’s great about this is that Aja’s thought process just as easily could have been shown, but instead Krel’s was. Krel is also the one who doesn’t follow his own wants and needs as easily, he doesn’t give in to his emotions like Aja, and he wasn’t the one who had run away his whole life. He also isn’t the one who outright says how he feels. That’s also why the fact that when he told Aja she wasn’t using it right at all is the annoyance in his voice conveys something--that goes on to be how he often expresses himself in front of others when he feels down or upset about something. 

Moving on, Aja uses the glasses, and finds herself overwhelmed with us, the humans, and the way we think, and she and Krel start talking about that.

Aja: “I mean all they think about is themselves and what others think of them. She’s worried about what he thinks about her, and all he’s thinking about is what that other person is thinking about him. Being human is difficult for everyone, it’s even hard for humans.”

Right after she says this, Krel looks down at the mind reader (which she threw to him and he caught on instinct) for a split second, and then just says, “I never thought about it that way. But you must focus, Aja. Listen. Remember why we’re here.”

When he says that he never thought about it that way, it’s likely that he isn’t only thinking about humans, because they’ve only been there for maybe a day or two. They don’t know anybody personally, nobody has annoyed them to that point, even Krel hasn’t said much bad about the planet...yet. It’s more likely he’s thinking about someone close to him, for instance, Aja. Krel doesn’t have as much empathy for others as Aja, so even though yes she was talking about the humans and their struggles, he is probably thinking about someone more relevant to him. How much does Aja struggle being forced into a certain destiny that she knows isn’t right for her?

Still, he goes on to tell Aja that she has to focus, and remember why they are there--likely the same thing he has been telling himself because while Aja did end up crying and expressing herself at the end of episode 2, Krel hasn’t yet at all really which is something he needs to do. What also might contribute is the fact that Krel, who actually participates in royal activities, has probably heard the line “Smile and wave” (no matter what) more times or has been faced with simply dealing with his sister’s absence multiple times. He is used to bottling up emotions, it’s been taught to him.

After Aja successfully uses the mind reader, Krel goes on to say, “It worked for you? I mean, I’m glad it worked.”

In a way, this line is kind of sad. Tech was Krel’s “thing” for lack of a better word. It was his skill that he had, that Aja wouldn’t be good at, it was his comfort. Once again going back to how we already saw the way their parents acted towards him vs. her. Aja had already been told that she was going to be good at her destiny, she had something going for her. By her being good at tech, it’s in a way taking away the one thing Krel is good at. I did notice this is also kind of how it went with Krel giving Aja the coronation tool. He had that, now he doesn’t. He had tech, now he doesn’t. Of course he still is much, much more superior but now she has tainted his ownership a bit.

Once they notice the extraterrestrial language among them (Stuart), they of course notice him saying their names, and Krel says, “That can’t possibly be good. It must be one of Morando’s agents.”

I really only pointed this out to acknowledge how he immediately jumped to conclusions, the worst conclusion possible actually. Of course with everything going on it’s definitely justified, but the difference when Aja replies is she says, “Only one way to find out.”  

Aja doesn’t say that it definitely is, but she for sure is mindful that it might be. Krel, on the other hand, immediately, not thinks---but knows, it’s bad news. He says “it can’t possibly”. Not only that, it’s the worst--the people who are actually after them. Out of all the galaxies, all the planets, Krel thinks that this one alien they spot is automatically one of the 7, maybe 8 bounty hunters specifically after him. He decided that in 5 seconds too. It’s just once again, Krel quickly--very quickly-- falling into this negative thinking pattern of “something bad is going to happen” like with Aja and the mind reader. 

Jump to where Steve punches Krel for calling him an idiot and an alien. (Poor sweet, sweet, socially clueless child.) Obviously Krel gets punched, he bleeds, and says, “I’m--I’m leaking fluid, what is this? I must be dying. Is this the end?”

Well, first of all, OH NO! NO, KREL! It’s gonna be alright! You’re okay!  

Second of all, Krel said that with true terror, he was serious. This is the third time in this episode that Krel’s quick and negative thinking pattern was represented, only this time was where it was most serious I’d say. Chances are, he felt mostly fine other than a small headache, it was the sight of the blood that set him off, from “leaking fluid” to “dying.” I wouldn’t say he was joking either being that this actually is his first time seeing blood, or at least the first time it just, came out of his nose. It was like a spiral, he was leaking fluid--he didn’t know what it was--he must be dying now, no ifs, ands, or buts. 

Last thing: Aja did indeed break Krel’s mind reader while chasing after Stuart, which he was kind upset about. Poor child.

In conclusion, Krel tends to overwhelm and worry himself when he thinks, ⅔ of those times, he thought it might as well be death because of the simplest clues. A single language? One of Morando’s bounty hunters. He leaks fluid? He’s dying. I’d also like to point out that somewhere in the episode, Vex did point out that they don’t know all of Earth’s languages. What if it simply happened to be any other language but English? Aja did also cry--she leaked fluid which was a known thing at this point. Why is this particular fluid automatically death? He’s not only pessimistic, but this attitude can cause him to panic. Krel was also happiest in his own setting--as he worked on tech alone with music in the background. I’m sure that pops up more as we go, but that was his happiest in this episode. Last but not least, he seems to be frustrated by Aja doing his job, and being good at his skill. It was almost like she was invading him.

Once again, if you read it, thank you! I will hopefully take less time for episode 4!

[kirkwallgremlin]

An Impulse Decision

Carver Hawke x Alistair Theirin, 1565 words

Carver walks into a trap. Luckily his fellow Warden Alistair has quick reflexes. Aka what if we kissed in the Deep Roads (and we were both Wardens)? 

Read on AO3

It was odd, being back in the Deep Roads. 

He and Garrett had spent so long working to get there, determined to raise the money for Bartrand’s expedition, to make their fortune in dwarven treasure. From what he had heard, it seemed Garrett had made a relative fortune and Carver was glad his remaining family had somewhere comfortable and safe to live. 

Obviously things hadn’t turned out how they planned. Bartrand’s betrayal, fighting their way back to the surface, his own brush with death.

Sometimes Carver wondered what he’d have done if he’d been given the choice. What would he have done if he hadn’t joined the Wardens on the verge of death, the Blight poisoning his body from the inside out? Would he have joined them if the choice had been his own, and not yet another choice circumstances and his older brother had made for him? 

It wasn’t something he lingered on often. Life as a Warden was better than no life at all, and dwelling on what-ifs never helped anyone. He was happy as a Warden - he had friends, a chance to make a life for himself. And Alistair was one of the first friends he made independent of his brother, the first friend who wouldn’t always be comparing him in some small way to Garrett. 

It was Alistair he found himself with now, trekking through passages as they tried to locate a new darkspawn escape point. A group of hurlocks had made it to the surface without being observed by the Wardens, and the Warden-Commander suspected they may have found a new one. 

“You look like you’ve got a whole lot of… thoughts going on in your head,” Alistair called back to him, and Carver jumped, having not even realised he had stopped. With one final glance at the arched doorway that had caught his attention, thrown him right back to that one fateful trip with Garrett and the others, he hurried after his fellow Warden. 

“Trying to drown out the darkspawn by overthinking?” Alistair continued as Carver caught up. “Doesn’t work, unfortunately. I’ve tried it.” 

The darkspawn noise was another change to the Deep Road experience. With Garrett and the others, they had seemed almost eerily quiet, the only noises the echo of their feet and the occasional shuffling, grumbling noises of the darkspawn. Their voices, when they spoke, had echoed along the long, empty hallways, bouncing off the pillars and the piles of rubble that no longer stood. 

The Wardens could sense the darkspawn, though, and the Deep Roads had no shortage of darkspawn. Carver didn’t know if it counted as noise if it was inside your own head but it was incessant. 

“Does it ever stop?” he wondered out loud. Alistair shrugged at him, looking back over his shoulder. 

“Nope. You get better at tuning it out though. Or… maybe I’m just used to ignoring whatever’s going on in my head. It does tend to be pretty full. Always full of thoughts and… well, now I guess darkspawn too.”

Carver sighed. Alistair smiled at him, a comforting smile that made Carver’s heart skip a beat. 

“You should have felt it during the Blight,” Alistair said. “Darkspawn everywhere and the archdemon flying around Maker knows where.” He shuddered, turning back to the path. “I do not miss that. Ostagar wasn’t fun either, whole darkspawn army waiting just around the corner.”

He fell silent at that. Carver didn’t respond either. Ostagar hadn’t been fun for either of them, for a variety of reasons. While it sometimes was nice to talk to Alistair about it, something they had done a few times already, the Deep Roads didn’t feel like the appropriate venue. 

He lived in awe that Alistair had actually fought the Blight with the hero of Ferelden himself. Despite having more than enough reason to let it go to his head - son of the former king, potential heir to the throne, saviour of Ferelden - Alistair was one of the most down to earth, honest people he knew, and the Wardens were lucky to have him. Carver felt lucky to have him in his life in any capacity, let alone as a friend.

The Warden-Commander often assigned them to work together. Carver suspected it was because Alistair was one of the most experienced wardens among them, and he the least, but he definitely wasn’t complaining. He liked working with Alistair. He made everything more enjoyable, even the things that weren’t at all pleasurable.

Lost in his own thoughts, he followed his companion through the maze of tunnels, wondering if Alistair would be interested in joining him for another game of cards later on. 

Alistair turned back to look at him, his mouth beginning to open as though he wanted to say something as dimly, Carver heard a faint click. Before he had time to process what it could be, to even consider it, something hit him squarely in the chest, the air forced from his lungs as he hit the wall. Alistair’s body followed him, pressing him against the ancient stone as Carver gasped for breath. 

“Trap,” Alistair said as the stones crumbled behind them, leaving nothing but an abyss in the path where Carver had been standing. 

“Thank you,” Caver wheezed, winded. Alistair wasn’t small, and he’d hit him pretty hard, but he couldn’t bring himself to mind. 

The weight of him pressed against Carver didn’t make it any easier to catch his breath and his mouth went dry as he realised how close Alistair was, the closest he could remember ever being to him. The closest he could remember being to somebody in a long time, in fact. And the fact that it was Alistair left him even more breathless, an odd fluttering feeling forming in his stomach. 

And Alistair was still so close, his chest against Carver’s, one hand on the wall beside Carver’s ear, making no move to step back. 

They stood like that for a moment, unmoving, breathless, adrenaline coursing through every inch of Carver’s body. Then something inside him gave way and his face was moving down, lips pressing against  Alistair’s. One hand slipped behind Alistair’s head, wanting to pull him closer, as close as he possibly could as he kissed him.

He sensed more than saw Alistair’s arm tense in response and he froze, pulling back, almost hitting his head against the wall behind him as he did. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, fear spiking in his belly that one impulse decision, something he didn’t even realise he wanted until it happened, had just ruined whatever friendship he had formed with his fellow warden. But now all he could think was that he had just kissed Alistair. Alistair, son of the former king of Ferelden, hero of the fifth blight, Grey Warden. Alistair, his closest friend in the wardens, the closest friend he could ever remember having. 

Alistair, who may never want to talk to him again now.

Alistair, who still hadn’t stepped back, still stood so close that Carver could see the rise and fall of his breath. 

And then their lips were together again and Alistair was kissing him, his arms around Alistair’s back. The other man’s armour was cold under his hands, no sun in the underground to warm it, his hair soft under Carver’s fingers. Alistair’s lips moved against his as Carver tried to lose himself in the moment. He had kissed people before, only a handful but enough, but this felt different, like he never wanted it to end. It didn’t matter that they were in the Deep Roads, that every sense was screaming an awareness of darkspawn, that he now had no idea what the future would bring. All that mattered was Alistair and the way he felt under Carver’s hands, under his lips. 

Something scuttled to the right, the soft sound of shifting rocks loud in the quiet. They sprung apart, hands jumping to their respective weapons with practiced ease, and Carver let out a nervous laugh at the sight of the startled nug disappearing into the tunnels. 

Alistair cleared his throat and Carver rubbed his face nervously. 

“So,” he said, otherwise lost for words. “Uh… I should probably thank you for, y’know, saving my life and everything.”

“I’m glad it’s appreciated,” Alistair grinned at him. “I thought I’d help you avoid an untimely death and all that. It’d be a terrible waste to let you fall to your doom.” The grin dropped from his face though. “Maker, I think my heart nearly stopped though. Please don’t do that again.” 

“I’ll do my best,” Carver muttered, suddenly hyper aware of every single part of his body and completely unsure what to do with it. Why was it so hard to know what to do with your hands? With your feet? “I’m... I don’t know why I kissed you. I’m sorry.” 

“Oh.” Alistair’s ears turned red. “Well, I can’t say I minded that part. You’re welcome to try that part again. If you wanted to. No pressure of course.”

“I think I’d like that,” Carver admitted, trying to ignore the fluttering continuing to grow in his chest. “We should probably keep looking for darkspawn now though. Finally get out of these damned tunnels.”

Much to Carver’s delight, however, Alistair showed him exactly how much he wouldn’t mind a repeat of that kiss before the pair of them moved on. 

[hollyxqx]

PLAYING WITH FIRE  //  YOONGI  //  05

↪PARING: Min Yoongi x Reader ↪ GENRE: angst » smut » idol!au » enemies to lovers ↪ SUMMARY: Yoongi hates you. Or at least he thinks he does. (AKA the one where you work for BigHit and Yoongi is bad at feelings). ↪ WORD COUNT: 6k ↪ WARNINGS: heavy angst | sex | secret relationships | jealousy | mild possessive behaviour a/n: don’t hate me too much for this chapter lol i promise its for a reason.

ONE | TWO | THREE | FOUR | FIVE | SIX

Yoongi could barely control the toothy grin that spread across his face as you practically skipped down the hallway, hand firmly encasing his. It was 1am, the perfect time for a secret rendezvous with someone he wasn't supposed to be with. Talk about taking control of the situation and being smart. People say it all the time but he literally couldn't help himself when it came to you.

Where you were taking him he wasn't aware; Yoongi was happy to be led as long as it was with you. You urged him on further with an encouraging smile thrown over your shoulder. He couldn't control how his heart skipped a beat.

"We can't go in here!" He hissed when he realised what you were up to.

"Be quiet." You reprimanded, holding a finger to his lips for a moment before you pushed open a fire escape door. He was almost certain this was at the very best was frowned upon and at worst - illegal. Left and right he looked up and down the deserted corridor double and triple checking that you were absolutely alone. The coast was clear.

Disobeying every instinct inside that was screaming this is not a good idea he followed you through the open door into the cool air of the concrete stairwell. You kept your grip on his hand tight as you dragged him up the flight of stairs.

"Where are you taking me?" He questioned aloud.

"Almost there." You ignored the question, panting a little from the exertion of this many steps. "It's worth it, I promise."

To his absolute horror you pushed open a door marked 'rooftop: do not enter' as if it was nothing. A thousand terrible images flashed through his mind of him getting caught doing something so wild and then being kicked out of BangTan and having his home country hate him. You could sense his reluctance.

"Yoongi, it's fine, I promise. The night manager of the hotel is a friend of mine. We're not going to get in trouble." You assured. He shot you a confused look.

"Wha - ? How do you know the manager?" He couldn't help but ask.

"Friend of my dad's. I lived in LA during the summer when I was younger you know."

He didn't actually know that. You hadn't really disclosed much about your life before moving to Korea to him and he hadn't asked, hesitant to pry too much assuming you'd tell him if you wanted him to have that information. "Oh." He muttered dumbly.

Now that you were outside the chill air of the summer night felt refreshing and he inhaled deeply, taking it in along with the view of the city below. He looked up at the sky, disappointed that the LA pollution hid the stars in the sky. Turning back to you, Yoongi watched as you wedged the metal door open with a wooden doorstop so it didn't close behind you both.

"The view is great huh?" You asked as you strode over to him.

He looked at you. "It is." He swallowed thickly.

You gently nudged him over to the furthermost concrete edge of the building. He wrapped an arm around your side and  held you tightly against him. "Do you see that tower over there?" You pointed somewhere to the left and he squinted, nodding when he saw what you were talking about. "That's where my father used to live. When my parents divorced that's where I would stay when I came to visit."

"How old were you when they separated?" He asked quietly, a gentle hand stroking your side comfortingly.

"Eleven." You hummed softly. "It was a lot, going back and forth between here and Britain alone but I'm thankful for it now. It made me brave enough to go to new places. Hence Korea."

"I had no idea." He felt a little foolish for not asking more about you sooner. It always seemed as if there never was enough time when you were together, every moment was stolen. He was thankful for the opportunity to learn now however. "I just assumed you were brave. Or stupid. One of the two." He teased, squeezing your hip affectionately.

You rolled your eyes, swatting him on the chest playfully. "There's a fine line between courage and stupidity but I'm going to assume there's a compliment in there somewhere."

Unable to stop himself he placed a tender kiss against your brow, feeling closer to you emotionally in that moment than ever before. Your eyes fluttered shut at his touch. "We're leaving tomorrow." He said quietly, wrapping his other arm around your waist. "This will be the last time we're in each other's company for a long time."

"Yeah." You sighed sadly. "We're both at that point in our lives where our career's are taking off and taking up all of time."

"Timing has never been a strength of mine." He quipped. "When I moved to Seoul I promised myself I would work as hard as possible, with zero distractions. Then I met you."

"Kiss me, Yoongi." You pleaded faintly. He was planning on doing that anyway. Dipping his head he slowly leaned forward, eyes flickering from your mouth to your lips and back again. His lips pressed to yours delicately, carefully, ever so slightly sucking your bottom lip as he pulled away. If this was going to the last time he did not want to rush.

This was a moment he wanted to remember.

"Thank you for bringing me here and sharing more of yourself with me." He murmured against your lips. "I like getting to see more of you."

The way you blushed didn't go amiss and it only made him kiss you harder this time around. Fingertip under your chin he tilted your head upwards for him so you were at the perfect angle, allowing him to gently slip his tongue into your mouth. You rotated in his arms so you were chest to chest and pressed yourself against him.

When you eventually broke apart, you stood on your tiptoes and pressed your foreheads together, smiling like love drunk fools at each other. "You are the best kisser." You giggled.

"I think you bring it out in me." He grinned.

You stood normally again and hugged him, burying your face in his neck. He held you close, just savouring the moment, enjoying having you in his arms. Minutes passed and he felt like he could stay like this for hours. "Yoongi?" You asked, voice muffled by his skin.

The tone of your voice had changed suddenly and it made him nervous. "Yeah?" His throat felt dry.

"What happens now?"

The million dollar question, the one he often asked himself in the quiet hours of the morning unable to sleep and unable to stop his overthinking brain spiral with the 'what ifs'. Truthfully, he didn't know. The only thing that seemed to work for your relationship was taking every moment as it comes. No expectations; no disappointment.

"I don't know." He answered honestly.

"We've been so lucky this far. If people find out - "

" - I know."

It goes without saying. Everyone has seen the articles and the vitriol that spreads like wildfire whenever an idol is caught being anything less than perfect. A relationship is certainly out of the question. A relationship with a staff member, absolutely never.

"I don't want to say this." You began. His stomach dropped and all he wanted to do was kiss you into silence so he didn't have to hear the words that were about to follow that ominous sentence. Everything was perfect right now and he didn't want it to be ruined. It had been a long, arduous road to this point.

"Your career is important to me." You continued. "Just because I don't work for you anymore doesn't mean I don't care. I do. Tremendously. That's why I want to see you do well, well all of the boys obviously. Which is why," You lifted your head to look him in the eye. "I don't think we should continue whatever...this is."

He'd be lying to himself if he hadn't expected this at some point, considering everything had felt like some sort of dream so far. He swallowed thickly, trying not to show you how your words had made him almost feel winded. "If that's what you want."

"No!" You protested, shaking your head frantically. "You misunderstand. I don't want that. Not even a part of me wants that. There is so much going on for both of us and we're young enough that we can be a little selfish and focus on work for a bit. Unfortunately we're in an industry where we can't exactly be open about being together. And we're both so busy is it really fair?"

He sighed.

"I think I get it." He said eventually. "It just fucking sucks. I wish I could date you. Y'know, properly. It's funny, when I was a kid I was so shy I never would have spoken to a girl like you." He laughed at himself. "I'd probably be too nervous to date you if you hadn't started working with us and I'd gotten to know you."

"You? Shy?" You scoffed. " No way. I've seen you onstage don't forget. That is not a shy boy, that's a god damn sexy man."

"It's true!" He contested, wide eyed. "I never wanted to perform. I just wanted to make music."

"Yeah? I didn't know that." You smiled fondly. "Where would our first date be do you think?"

"We've already had it." He smirked, thinking back to the concert you went to together and how he'd spent most of the night watching your reactions.

"Please - that doesn't count. I'm talking about the hypothetical world where I meet shy Yoongi."

He laughed a little. "For our first official date I'd take you for dinner somewhere nice," He hummed pausing in thought. "Then maybe a walk along the beach afterwards. I think something out of the city would suit us."

"You're so cute." You kissed his nose. "I agree, away from the city is better."

"Then, I'd want to kiss you at the end of the date. But I'd probably bottle it at the last second and do something awkward instead."

The two of you shared a genuine laugh. "I would have liked to meet him."

"You'll have to settle for me, sorry."

"He's okay I guess." You smiled, kissing him again. "Nice Yoongi."

"So after tonight we're definitely not doing this again?" He asked to confirm. It felt terrible even saying the words aloud.

"It's for the best. Not forever, just...until we're settled. Then we can do it properly right? No sneaking around?"

His stomach lurched but he nodded anyway. That sounded a lot like forever to him. It wasn't fair, he wanted this to run it's course naturally and once again, being an idol was interfering with his life. As thankful as he was for his career, sometimes he yearned for a little normality.

***

Yoongi's not entirely sure how it happened but it doesn't take long for him to be pushing you roughly up against the concrete wall of the stairwell, sliding his hands up and underneath your shirt. It wasn't his intention but he couldn't help himself. If this was the last time he was going to make it count. You had tried to leave but he'd pulled you back to him, desperate to have you once more.

"Not here," You told him breathlessly. He grunted in agreement but didn't stop, shoving a muscled thigh between your legs to give you something to grind on and guided your hips for you. He just wanted to hear you moan for him and you did. "Seriously, not here. Let's go to my room."

It's easy to slip back to your hotel room unnoticed given the lateness of the hour. He's careful to keep his hands off of you until you're safely behind a locked door.

He laid you down on the bed and hovered over you. The bruise he'd sucked into your skin the day before had darkened over night. As he kissed it he smirked. He was going to leave more tonight wherever he could, purple marks that said I was here, here and here. Maybe you'd remember for a while that you were his at one point, in some way shape or form.

"You're going to think about the way I fuck you tonight for months." He smirked into you skin with a smile and he meant it. You groaned out loud at his words, clutching desperately at him. "I promise." He assured, nipping at your ear.

"I do that anyway." You breathed a laugh as he kneeled on his haunches to have better access to rid you of your skin tight jeans. "The amount of times I've touched myself thinking of you..."

Yoongi froze. He peered up at you through the dark hair that hung in his eyes. "Tell me more." He urged. "What do you think about?" Your jeans were gone and your panties soon followed. He slowly ran his hands up the inside of your thighs before spreading them open for him. "Better yet, show me."

He guided your hand between your legs, encouraging you to masturbate for him. The way you shyly bit your lip as if you were nervous made him weak. His thumbs rubbed circles on your inner thighs as he watched your fingers move intently. "Tell me what you think about." He repeated. He wanted to hear it so badly.

"Mostly I," You took a shaky breath, thighs flexing slightly underneath his palms. "I think about you eating me out. A lot."

"Yeah?" He laid down on his stomach and licked a stripe up your cunt next to your working fingers. "I love eating you out." You stopped for a moment but he placed his hand on yours, telling you to keep going so he could watch how wet you were getting for him.

He rested his head on your thigh, gently sucking a bruise on the tender flesh, making you moan out loud. He kissed the forming bruise a few times after he was satisfied, throwing a smirk your way when you realised what he had done.

"Remember the first time we fucked? On the bus?" Yoongi nodded. "I think about that a lot too."

"Why?"

"Because you're so much dirtier than I thought you were." You both laughed a little. "I love it when you fuck me open with your fingers, feels so good. Honestly I just love it when you just hold me down and fuck me, Yoongi."

He tried to hold in the groan that was bubbling in the back of his throat. Right now he had the patience of a saint, because that's all he wanted to do too. He rid himself of his clothing and hovered over you slowly stroked his aching cock as he watched you, desperate for even a little bit of relief.

"Yoongi I want you." You moaned, back arching off the mattress so much so that your breasts pressed against his chest. "Please."

He wanted you too but was only delaying himself so this moment in time could be frozen a little longer. As soon the sex was over, everything was over.

Lacing his hands through each of yours he pressed them down on the bed next to your head as he pushed his stiff length inside of you. It was so warm and tight and wonderful he stilled completely as soon as he was sheathed, just to commit this moment to memory.

He attached his lips to your neck to distract him from the overwhelming sensation that was already beginning to build. "You're so fucking pretty, baby." He mumbled into your skin. He could smell you; your perfume, your natural body scent and he wanted to drown in it, commit it to memory forever. "I'm lucky I ever got to have you like this."

His hips moved of their own accord, thrusting into you. You keened and moaned, squeezing his hands at the sensation. He always loved how responsive you were to his touch. "It feels amazing. So good Yoongi. You're so perfect."

There was too much he wanted to say. He was afraid of spilling every wonderful thing he'd ever thought about you in that moment. This was an ending. A goodbye of sorts. He couldn't. So he focused all his energy into making you feel as good as possible and not on the things he wanted to say.

He touched your clit with his thumb, just how he knew you liked, feeling you tighten around him. There was a sense of pride every time he made you cum, getting to see you at your peak, just for him. He doubted you were had been like this with other partners before.

"Let me see you cum," He husked, gazing down at you. "Just one more time. Cum for me pretty girl."

You responded to his encouragement by whining his name as you clamped around him. He kept going, stimulating you into over sensitivity and only stopping when you clutched at his wrist, signalling you'd had enough.

Yoongi hoisted you up so you were pressed chest to chest, resting back on his haunches. Desperately he kissed you, tasting some of the sweat that had formed on your upper lip. His hands slid down your body, encouraging you to wrap your legs around his waist. He almost felt as if he couldn't get close enough to you.

"You think you can go again?" He breathed against your lips.

"I don't know but I'm happy to try." You smiled breathlessly as you clung to him.

In a flash he had you on your front, knees straddling your thighs as he entered you again. He leaned down, caging you in with his body and pressing you into the mattress. As his hips slapped against your ass he kissed your shoulders sloppily. He wasn't going to last much longer. You felt too good.

"Fuck me just like that Yoongi." You gasped, hands curling in the sheets, gripping them tightly. "Please, please, please."

Fuck, he was going to cum. Before he could he pulled out and squeezed the base of his cock delaying his impending orgasm. You looked at him, brow furrowed in confusion over your shoulder. You tried to push back on him but he stopped you.

"Turn over baby." He groaned. You rolled onto your back, reaching for him. "Don't want to come too soon." He exhaled, pushing back into you. You whimpered.

Yoongi pushed both of your legs together and rested them over his shoulder as he leaned into you. The angle was much deeper than before and he went as hard as he could. "I'm close again Yoongi, I might come like this." You panted.

"Come like this." He almost begged.

"Yoongi." You almost cried. "Yoongi."

It only encouraged him. He wanted you to come without having to touch yourself. The pace he kept was relentless. "Baby, please. Let go for me."

You did. He followed shortly after, holding himself with a hard thrust inside of you, holding himself as deeply in you as possible. "Fuck." He swore against your skin when he came.

You pushed some hair off of his face. "So good." You murmured, nuzzling into him. "So good."

When both of you reluctantly had cleaned up, maintaining some sort of distance you walked him to the door. Kissing him deeply as a depature was a surprise, but he welcomed it nonetheless.

"Yoongi, this isn't goodbye."

He frowned at your words.

"Yoongi this isnt goodbye. It's see you later. I promise."

***

Blearily he walked back to the room he shared with Namjoon, a little worse for wear and a lot exhausted. Normally after a night with you he would be feeling pretty great about now. There was a heavy emptiness he carried with him this time. Everything would be fine, he knew that having been through much worse in his life, but that rationale still didn't stop him from feeling shitty.

He slipped into the room to find Namjoon already up and on the phone, ordering some room service. He nodded to Yoongi in acknowledging hello. Yoongi shrugged off his jacket and shoes, throwing himself on to his twin bed with a long yawn and closed his eyes. Maybe he could have a quick rest before his turn in the shower.

"I ordered you breakfast, I figured you'd be back in time." Namjoon spoke. Yoongi hummed, unable to open his eyes. "Did you sleep at all last night hyung?"

"Nope."

"You're an animal." Namjoon laughed, correctly assuming what his friend had been up to.

"I'll sleep on the plane." Yoongi yawned again, mentally counting how many hours until the flight. If he could make it through the next six he could rest. He needed coffee urgently.

"Do you mind if I shower first?" Namjoon asked.

"Go ahead. If I'm asleep wake me up when you get out." Yoongi rolled onto his side, curling into a ball. He desperately wanted to quell the ache in his chest, chastising himself for being ridiculous. He found himself dozing off as he heard the soothing sound of the shower start to run.

It felt like thirty seconds had passed when Namjoon shook him awake, but one look at the clock told him it had been close to thirty minutes. Even though he'd requested the wake up call he still grumbled as he groggily sat up. "I'm going to shower."

"Breakfast will be here in about five."

Yoongi nodded and went to the bathroom. He washed and brushed his teeth quickly, eager to get to the coffee that was due imminently. When he returned to the room Namjoon was setting up the food for the two of them.

"Need coffee." Yoongi muttered, going straight for a mug and the pot.

"You're so grouchy when you're tired." Namjoon teased. Which in all fairness was true, but he was grouchy for more reasons than lack of sleep. He was going to have to explain to Namjoon sooner or later, the prospect of which made him feel embarrassed.

They said nothing else as they ate. Yoongi looked at his phone, caught up on some messages and emails he'd missed while with you.

"Y/N ended things with me." Yoongi eventually said. Namjoon looked at him in surprise he went to speak but Yoongi stopped him. "It's for the best. Yes I'm fine, no I don't want to talk about it."

"I..." Namjoon hesitated, confused. "Okay."

"I don't really feel like telling everyone else so if you could, yknow if it comes up. It's not a big deal."

"Sure." Namjoon was still looking at him peculiarly. "Whatever you need."

"It really isn't a big deal."

"I know, you said so."

Yoongi didn't know who he was trying to convince, himself or his friend. He couldn't wait to be on the flight and unconscious for twelve hours.

***

It was business as usual when he landed in Seoul. They had the afternoon off before a night time practice session. Yoongi was thankful to be thrown straight into the deep end with work, it was a welcome distraction. If Namjoon had told the others about you and him, he didn't know. Either way no one mentioned you and for that he was grateful. In time he'd forget and move on.

He didn't entirely trust nor believe you when you said this was on hold, not over. It would be in his best interests to assume it was done for good, he told himself. He'd pined and lusted after you for so long now, he wasn't going to do it anymore. He couldn't allow himself the luxury of that interference. Music came first now, always.

You promised to stay in touch but he wasn't going to hold his breath. Not because he assumed you disliked him but because he knew first hand how busy you were at the moment. A new boy group to manage doesn't leave a lot of free time for a social life, especially with someone who was as busy as yourself. So for now, being your friend was good enough. He wouldn't go back to being cold to you, he'd be the nice, shy Yoongi he promised you he was.

***

The first time he heard from you was through text. Roughly one month after LA. He wasn't expecting it.

from: y/n i'm watching your live stream ;-) nice sweater vest, you look like my dad

He didn't normally look at his phone during his solo lives, so he only received the text after he'd already turned off the connection. He laughed at the text before sending you a reply, defending his taste in fashion. You didn't reply to that text.

The next few weeks turned into months and you remained in contact solely through text.

from: y/n a little birdie @ bighit told me you're going to be blonde for the comeback send me pics!

from: yoongi who spilled?  [ i m a g e  s e n t ]

from: y/n cute cute cute i love it

from: yoongi your turn to send me a pic not bc i miss your face.  I just forgot what you look like

from: y/n [ i m a g e  s e n t ]

from: yoongi there she is now i remember

from: yoongi: you're going to be at the MAMA's?

from: y/n yup

from: yoongi if u get time come say hi

***

"Let me get this straight. You went from hating her, to sleeping with her, to sort of dating, then not dating and now you're constantly flirting with each other through text? My head hurts."

Yoongi looked at Seokjin and shrugged, as they both towelled the sweat off their brows after performing. Waiting in the wings of the stage until it was time to return to their seats. He didn't really have a good explanation for it either. In his mind he was just being friendly. Not that he would speak to every one of his female friends like this. Yoongi double checked to make sure no one could overhear them.

"We're just friends. You all talk to her as well." He defended.

"Not like that I don't." Seokjin smirked. "As if she sends me selfies. Don't think I didn't clock that one. Come on, Yoongi hyung."

"It's complicated." Yoongi sighed, accepting defeat. "I don't think her and I can be just friends but I'm trying."

"It's complicated because of all the loooooove." He laughed, nudging Yoongi with his elbow, who then proceeded to swat at him like he was a pestering insect.

"Shut up." He grumbled.

"She's here tonight, I passed her earlier but she was on the phone." Jin informed him. Yoongi knew that already. "I bet you end up in bed together again. Both of you are fooling yourselves."

Yoongi rolled his eyes and took that as his cue to leave the conversation. A tiny, deeply hidden part of him hoped that would be the case but he wouldn't dare allow himself to feel that. Hope was a dangerous thing.

He wonders if you're feeling as much anticipation and trepidation as he does. Even that thought creates a knot in his stomach.

"Hey blondie." He knew it was you before he looked, turning on his heel to face you. You ruffled his newly blonde locks with a grin.  "You were amazing tonight."

"Thanks." He broke out into a genuine smile, fixing his now mussed up hair. "How've you been?"

"Busy. Good." You answered, returning his smile. It had been months since he'd seen you and he cursed himself for getting so excited just being in your general vicinity. He was supposed to be moving in the other direction. The getting over you for good direction. You waved at Seokjin over his shoulder before your phone chimed with an incoming message. "I've got to run, but we'll be at the BigHit building later? See you there?"

"Yeah, sure."

You're gone as quick as you had appeared, leaving Yoongi dumbstruck in your wake.

Yoongi never saw you that night after everything. Bangtan had won a total of five awards, so he was on a high and looking to celebrate with everyone. He texted you but was left on read with no response. At the very least he had expected a response of congratulations, but his inbox remained empty.

Seokjin was wrong about you ending up together, and Yoongi was disappointed. He should have known better.

*** Time off is a rarity, so to have five entire weeks of schedule free days ahead of him had Yoongi excited. Personal projects that had taken a back seat were now finally able to be a priority for him and he was looking forward to holing himself in the studio for a few days and making some progress. Namjoon and Jimin were going travelling while the rest of the boys were going home to their families.

He had only vague plans to visit his own family but when his mother sent a guilt inducing text, Yoongi made those plans concrete. Nothing like a mother's disappointment to motivate you. He knew he needed to make more of an effort.

Daegu still always felt like home, no matter how long he had been away. Even just the smell of his house (usually whatever his mom was cooking combined with fresh laundry and flowers) made him feel comfortable. His mom gave him a bone crushing hug the instant she first saw him. He definitely had left it too long this time. Yoongi made a mental note to visit more.

It felt good to have a family meal. He remembered sadly that the last time he had shared a table with his parents had been his grandfather's funeral. It wasn't often that Yoongi thought he worked too much or too hard, but he certainly wondered now.

He forced his mother to relax while he washed the dishes, knowing how tirelessly she worked to provide for her family. He just wanted to do something nice for her, however minor or insignificant it seemed to him he knew she would appreciate it.

Yoongi's mother essentially pushed him out the door when he tried to clean the entire kitchen. He had plans with some childhood friends (not that he was particularly excited about them) and his mom knew. She yelled at him with a laugh to go enjoy himself and stop re-arranging her kitchen. Somewhat reluctantly he trudged to the bar he'd agreed to meet at.

They'd been coming to this place since Yoongi was sixteen. As soon as they realised they could get away with buying beer and not having to show ID it became a regular hang out spot for him and his friends. It's not the most amazing place he's ever been to but there's a sense of nostalgia here now that keeps them all coming back.

A quick scan of the room enabled Yoongi to spot Jongdae, sat in the back right corner of the somewhat busy bar. He weaved through the tables, greeting his old friend with a hug when he reached him.

"Even though you're so famous now you haven't changed a bit." Jongdae laughed, patting him on the back. Yoongi merely shook his head with a smile. "There's something I have to tell you - Ara's coming tonight."

"What?" Yoongi frowned, confused. "Does she know I'm - ?"

"Yeah. She knows."

Ara was Yoongi's one and only official girlfriend he'd ever had in his life. They had met in school and dated on an off for years before going separate ways. There was never any animosity between them, but there certainly was no love lost on his part either. He couldn't even remember the last time he spoke to her. He could remember her crying her eyes out when he ended things however. It still made him feel like a total dick, even to this day.

Ara was an adult who just happened to be a part of his childhood friend group. Yoongi was sure she'd moved on. He wasn't in the mood for a stifled awkward evening.

When she arrived she had Jonghyun and Jun in tow. Jongdae beckoned them over to the table. Ara gave Yoongi a polite hello and he relaxed, tension of anticipating an awkward arrival dissipating.

Most of the conversation was centred on him, much to his dismay. Yoongi was an idol and his friends found joy in playfully mocking him.

"He isn't even wearing makeup for us, guess we're not that special." Jongdae teased, squinting at Yoongi's face and pretending to look for traces of non existent foundation.

"Ah, fuck off." Yoongi couldn't help but grin. "You don't understand how irritating wearing makeup is."

"You would know." Jun laughed. Yoongi didn't miss Ara's laugh either.

"Idol life isn't easy." Jongdae mocked. "Just being rich and adored all the time. God, how awful."

"I wish," Yoongi scoffed. "At least you can have a girlfriend without everyone hating you." He said before he could think, alcohol loosening his tongue. Ara looked at him curiously.

"True, true." Jongdae agreed. "You must date a little though? On the down low?"

"I did for a while. It's hard." Yoongi sighed, cursing himself for putting a damper on the conversation. He needed to stop talking before he revealed too much.

"You're single now?" Ara asked, taking him by surprise.

"Yeah." He nodded. "I'm single."

***

He was an idiot for ending up in this situation. This is why I don't drink went through his head as he followed Ara into her home, her fingers laced through his to guide him where she wanted him. He wasn't drunk, he knew what he was doing, he'd just had enough alcohol to lower his inhibitions. Ara was a warm, willing body who wanted him and Yoongi was lonely.

Thoughts of you were creeping into his subconscious and he shook his head, as if to clear his mind. No. He couldn't and wouldn't think of you now. You didn't want him and Ara did. He'd be a fool to even consider you in this moment. Yet he couldn't help himself, memories flashing before his eyes. Like reverse psychology. The more he didn't want to think of you the more he did.

When Ara's lips touched his cock his eyes squeezed shut, willing the image of your lips around him away.  A horrible, gut wrenching thought entered his mind - the idea that you might be doing this with someone else right now and he felt sick. He gripped on to Ara's hair as if to anchor himself to reality. The reality that it was not you who he was in bed with.

It took him forever to cum, despite the enthusiasm Ara gave to the blow job. He was too much in his own head, drowning in memories. If she was offended she didn't show it, much to his relief. Yoongi did his best to get her off as well, not that he had much desire to but he wasn't selfish.

He snuck out of her room before sunrise, feeling a mixture of shame and remorse. All he wanted to do was go home and shower.

He thought about you several times on the walk to his house and wondered if the feeling was mutual. Maybe you were just better at compartmentalizing than he was. Yoongi was a textbook overthinker. He was struggling and admitting it to himself as he stumbled through the streets at 5am felt pathetic. Maybe he should have fought harder for you.

MASTERLIST

[demonqueenbeee]

Slighly NSFW but really only slightly.

Scars

Raven only had three scars on her entire body.

It was actually very little when you considered her day job. He knew that her lack of scars was due to her ability to heal herself and others. So two is all that had managed to stick to her almost flawless skin.

Three very different scars that made him feel two very different ways.

He traced his fingers over the first one. It started right at the top of her sternum and trailed about 4 inches down between the valley of her breasts. The second scar was parallel to the first but on her back. About four inches right between her shoulder blades.

He hated those scars. They reminded him of the day he nearly lost her because of his own stupidity.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” she said grabbing onto his hands. “Dick let me help you with this.”

He shook his head.

“He said to go alone,” he replied. “This is the only chance to save those kids. It's my fault they were captured in the first place! God fucking knows what that madman has done to them...god knows if they’re even...”

He didn’t even want to think of that.

If all those kids were dead, it would be his fault. With that in mind, he pushed her hands away and angrily began to suit up.

“Richard,” she said using his full name and running after him. “Please look at me, please! It isn’t your fault that those teenagers decided to play vigilante and got caught by the Joker! That being said, you are not okay right now. You aren’t level headed, you’re going to overthink things and get distracted!”

“They followed me ,RAVEN!” He yelled. “They followed me into trouble and I wasn't able to stop or save them! I have to at least try now! I cant sit here and wait for Batman or Superman to pick up the fucking phone! And I sure as hell am not putting you in danger! The Joker is next level evil, Raven. Not something a teenager should handle!”

She glared at him for using the teenager card.

“I may be a teenager,” she said. “But I am no child. You were barely a teenager one year ago! Less even! And do not get me started on next level evil!”

He hit the nearest wall, his fist leaving a large indent in the wall. It caused Raven to jump back in shock.

“The difference between me and you is that I have fought him!” He yelled, grabbing her shoulders and shaking her. “I am not letting you near him and if I have to lock you up in the Trigon room, I will.”

Raven was shocked beyond words at his behavior but he had no time for apologies.

“Stay here,” he commanded.

She shook her head and turned away.

......

He traced the darkened edge that made the scar a scar. The skin was slightly raised. A slightly darker color than her natural pale skin.

If he had listened to her that day, she might have never gotten the nearly fatal wound that left her permanently scarred.

....

When he made it to the rendezvous point, it had been too late. Three of the four boys were dead, the joker long gone.

One of the boys was still breathing but needed medical help. He quickly got the boy out of the abandoned building and into the streets where he promptly called for an ambulance.

The kid started to wake up as they waited.

“Nightwing?” He coughed out.

He was hacking up his lungs and Nightwing was worried he wouldn’t make it.

“Its okay, kid,” he said, trying to keep him calm. “Just stay calm. Help is on its way!”

“No,” the boy coughed. “No you don't understand. It's a plot!”

Nightwing nodded. He figured as much. He bet the Joker expected him to go back in for the other boys and then attack. But he had seen enough dead bodies to know it was futile. He would get the other kid back to safety and then try to get Batman or Red Robin or even freaking Red Hood down to help him.

“Just keep calm,” he told the boy again. “An ambulance is on its way. Your friends didn’t make it. I’m sorry.”

“I know,” he replied back, his voice still breaking. “I know! He made me watch and he told me he was only luring you to get to your friend! He said you were the Robin that fought with the Titans and that you brought that goth hero with you! That you two were close! He’s going after her!”

Nightwing felt his blood rush away from his face and he knew he had paled. He stayed calm, however, knowing that Raven was in his apartment probably meditating her anger away.

A siren and the sight of blaring ambulance lights were on the horizon. He would check on Raven immediately after.

“You have to find her!” The boy said. “He said he’d hurt her. He said he’d do such nasty things.”

“It’s gonna be okay,” he told the young boy. “She’s going to be okay, right now we need to focus on you.”

The boy shook his head. He was only about thirteen , maybe even twelve. He should have been going through this.

How Nightwing hated the Joker. The madman.

He spoke to the emts and gave them instructions to get away fast.

It was almost midnight and Nightwing needed to check on Raven.

“Nightwing,” a dark voice said, jumping down next to him. “Status report.”

He looked up to see Batman and Robin landing next to him.

“Trap,” he said to him. “This kid was the only survivor. The other boys are still in there but it's a trap. Joker is apparently out looking for Raven so I need to go check on her.”

Robin looked to Batman with worry on her face.

“Check on her now,” Batman said with his most serious of voices. “Red Robin and Red Hood were both responding to trouble. Oracle had to call both Batgirl and Raven to two more separate issues. Go now, I'll send you the coordinates, me and Robin will take over this.”

Nightwing shook his head in fear and took off immediately.

.............

He laid his head between her breasts and kissed the scar. If he had never asked her to stay alone, she would have never been alone.

Hell..if he had just trusted her.....

If he had stayed calm..

There were so many ifs.

.....

He got to where she was and she was alive. He breathed a sigh of relief. She was holding her head in what seemed like intense pain

“Raven!” he yelled.

She turned to look at him but her face was horrified.

“No,” she yelled.

But it was too late.

He heard something fire and turned to see a harpoon. A literal harpoon made its way towards him.

Towards him and not her. It had been more than just a trap to get Raven. It had been a trap to get him too. It had been aimed for him mostly.

He had no time to move as the harpoon flew at him. He knew he was going to die.

He heard as the harpoon made contact with skin and clothing and felt a small pain in his chest area and blood splatter onto him.

But it wasn't enough pain and he was definitely still alive.

He opened his eyes and he knew the sight before him would haunt him for the rest of his life.

....

He was doing the scar thing again. She shook her head at his actions. Every so often when he was able to get her naked, he would go into a dark and regretful mood.

It drove her nuts. It had been almost 5 years and tt was the past . Yes 3 innocent thirteen year old boys had died and one was almost fatally injured, but it had not been his fault.

Her getting harpooned in the chest had not been his fault either but he refused to believe it. She jumped in front of him to save him knowing full well the consequences. In the end she had survived. She got two nasty scars out of it but she had survived.

He had more death defying scars then she did , anyways. Like the ones on his own back from a fight gone wrong with Dr. Light.

She shrugged her shoulders and decided she would join in on the fun. She traced the raised skin with her nimble fingers. The muscles on his back were taught and slightly moist from the sweat that had gathered. She loved the way the muscles on his back felt.

The scars added to it, in her opinion. It made them feel almost jagged, textured was a better way to explain it.

She traced her hands down his strong arms, grasping the biceps. He had scars there too and she traced them with her thumbs.

A kiss near her nipple made her gasp.

“Dick,” she said. “Stop playing, you’ve been focused on those scars for 5 minutes now.”

He raised himself to look at her face.

“Your right,” he said. “I should pay attention to the other scar.”

She flushed as he lowered himself right down to the lowest part of her belly.

“I like this one,” he said, suddenly kissing the scar. “I really do.”

She smiled at the love he was radiating.

That scar had been caused by something that had almost ended her life as well but it had definitely been worth it.

If she was being honest she missed the little trouble maker but it was their first night alone and Alfred had been so happy to take the baby.

Their baby.

Their son who had also almost ended both their lives when his power developed in utero. He had inherited his mother's dark telekinetic powers and three months before he should have been born, he tore through her uterus and her skin. It was a horrifically bloody sight.

She required an emergency cesarean and Dick had gotten so stressed out, he had a panic attack and fainted. They had thought he had a heart attack but his heart had no signs of ischemia (which she would have healed anyways).

But the best news was that the baby had survived. He was premature and very tiny but he would be okay. And he was okay.

He was perfect in fact. Even with his powers.

Raven had the ability to counteract them so as long as he was with her, he was fine. And with Alfred too. He had taken a liking to Alfred and his powers would sooner protect them then hurt him. So he was the perfect babysitter for their first night alone in almost 6 months.

Raven focused her attention back to her husband of 3 years.

He was more than just kissing the scar now, he was trailing down and Raven knew it was going to be a good night.

A good night indeed.

End

[chiibinomonodamon]

Doujinshi Translation

Yeah. I finally sat my ass down and finished the first ZackRay book I purchased. xD Don’t like the ship?; well you can f*ck right off. :)

*There is nothing sexual in the book.

'Ai Wo Kuratte, Baka ni Naru' Eating Love Makes a Fool of Me by Tokiko Nao Translation by Chiibi. Please do not repost and do not make scanlations without crediting me.

Page 01 Ray monologues: I do not understand what 'love' is. Because it is not something that I've touched even once. 'Love' from a family. 'Love' from a friend. Or 'love' from a lover. I've never had even one of these. But if 'love' is an emotion we do not understand... Perhaps the identity of this feeling I don't understand could be...

Page 02 [Ray is sitting on the bed looking anxious] : Zack is late...but he said he was only going out for a minute... The police didn't find him, did they? He's going to come back, right? Loneliness, worry, and doubt are all spinning around in my head... I'm scared. My heart is aching. No...I'll stop thinking negatively... There's no point in thinking about 'what-ifs'. [music from the TV] Page 03 : This drama is...still going on? I was watching this just to kill time at the last motel we were at. TV dialogue: "I love you! Please don't leave me behind anymore...!" [Ray lays down on the bed, thinking] : "Love"...? "I love you"... What type of situation do you call 'love', I wonder... [she thinks of her mother] Was that love? [her father] Or maybe that? I'm certain those were both wrong. Because the story I watched before didn't seem that painful. They didn't scream or degrade each other. Page 04 The woman just whispers "Only being with you makes me so happy, darling." Is that 'love'? If I too...until my last moment of life... just be next to Zack... TV: "We will now continue with today's news" "Some time ago, around 10 p.m., the bodies of a man and woman couple were discovered by OO River." "A rather dangerous-looking knife was found at the scene of the crime." "It is thought to be the same type of weapon from the incident at XX River from the previous day. The culprit is thought to be among the escaped prisoners on the wanted list of..." [Ray looks scared] : "Zack...!" Page 05 "Yeah...did I scare ya? Ya still up, huh? Whatcha doin' with the lights off, anyway?" Ray: "Welcome back...you went quite far this time, right?" Zack:" Yeah..." Ray: "Did you...kill those people?" Zack: "So what if I did?" Ya gonna bitch about it now, after all this time?" Ray: "No, I won't. I just wanted to make sure." [Zack pulls off his coat]: "That so..."

Page 06 Ray sits on the bed, shyly twirling her hair around her finger. "I wonder if they were in love." Zack: "HAH?" Ray: "Those people were...a couple, right?" Zack: "I don't friggin' know. Don't mean shit to me." Ray: "Hey Zack, do you know...           what love is?" [He grimaces at her] Page 07 [Tousling Ray's hair] "I should be askin' YA instead!" "Ya think I actually KNOW!? Yer gonna make me puke again!" Ray: "Stop it~"           "Well...I don't know..."            "But I..."             "I think I'm happy...just being with you...              so I wonder if this is what love is..."              "I mean, that's what the drama said...Zack, what do you think...?"

Page 08 [He gets mad] "THAT'S DAMN GROSS! ARE YA TALKIN' IN YER SLEEP OR WHAT!?" "C'mon! It's time for little brats to go to bed! We're leavin' this town tomorrow, right!? You'll oversleep!" [Ray pouts thinking] The one I'd worry about doing that is YOU actually... [She gets into bed] :" Take a shower before you go to sleep, okay?" Zack: "Yeah yeah" Ray: Thank God he came back...          It's strange...how before I was so scared, I couldn't stand it... Page 09 But now that Zack is here, I'm okay. I feel warm and comforted. I don't want to give him to anyone. I won't let anyone destroy this. I won't let anyone get in the way. For that I would... Page 10 [birds chirping] Zack: We leavin' already....? Let's keep sleepin'...it's still 5 a.m.... Ray: There's no way we can do that.          Because of yesterday's incident, the police are going to be more watchful than ever.          So please behave yourself just for today, all right? [He yawns] "All right..." Page 11 Ray: I'm going to go check out what's ahead of us. Zack, you stay here. [rub rub] Zack: Don't go too far. Ray: I know. [she grins a little] "I'm just going to take a peek around the corner." Ray thinking: No matter how deserted the town is supposed to be...all these shops have security cameras so we have to avoid the main roads... "This area looks clear." [peeks to and fro] [click of a gun] [scream] Zack: RAY!? Page 12 : HEY! RAY...!? Ray: Don't come over here!! Policedude who's touching Ray like how dare you: "You're the wanted criminal, Issac Foster, aren't you!" Ray: Zack! Police douche: Walking around with this kidnapped girl...! Ray thinking: Oh! Come to think of it, that was on the news yesterday...! Zack doesn't have a weapon now...! Because I made the mistake of choosing this way, he might be killed this time...! That can't happen! I have to do something...! Page 13: Ray thinking: Even though I've been caught, they won't kill me! I have to get Zack to escape!! [she grabs douche] : "HURRY AND RUN FOR IT!" douche: What the...let go!" Ray: ZACK...! GO NOW!! Zack: If I run, what're YOU gonna do?! Ray: That's not the problem right n- Zack: That IS the problem right now.            You know, Ray? I'm not givin' up.             I'll kill 'im with my BARE HANDS and run if I have to! Ray thinking : Ah... I see.        I finally get it now.      This is all the same as that drama show.     In that case I... Douche: Stand back! If you go with that man, he will kill you for sure! Page 14 Ray clicks the gun "That's OUR VOW." "Don't get in the way." I no longer fear sin Zack: Are ya glad ya used that? Ray: No...the truth is I never intended to do so.          But it would be troublesome for them to find out that I'm traveling with you or that I have a gun on me.... [panting] I intended to distract him so you could escape. I knew that's what I should have done yet... Yet I didn't like it. Page 15 Ray crying: "I DON'T WANT TO BE SEPARATED FROM YOU ANYMORE!"                        "That's why my selfishness took over. I'm so sorry..." [He sighs] Ray: I'm sure the reinforcements will get here soon and find this. Zack: Yeah. Ray: And then they'll find out about me, how we have guns, and everything we've done up to now. Zack: Yeah. Ray: And escaping them is going to be harder to do than ever before...         I'm sure the past version of me        would never have done something so rash and stupid...       But I don't regret it!

Page 16

Ray: I did something I wanted to do so... [Zack wipes her face^^] : Ah geeeze ya talk way too long!  Say yer main point already!! If ya don't regret it, then it was obviously the right action. Quit thinkin' about EVERY LITTLE THING, stooooopid. [sniffle] Ray: ...okay. Zack: Good grief and if yer gonna kill 'im, shoot 'im faster! Ray: I can't do that...          If I were to act without thinking the same way you do, we'd... Zack: Ya ended up shootin' 'im without thinkin' ANYWAY!            Tryin' to start somethin' with me!?             Let's go now. [sting]              Their backup guys might be comin'. Ray: Yes, you're right. [thinking] Back then... Page 17 I remembered the drama I saw on the TV at the motel. There was a scene with a lover being killed. The one who killed and the one who was killed both said "It's for the sake of love." When I remembered that, I thought such a burden of sin was a lovely thing. That's why I finally understood. If it's for your beloved, committing a sin is a way of loving that person. Speaking of which, Zack too [peek] killed that man in order to save me. But maybe he just wanted to kill him anyway. Yes, the probability of that is pretty high... Page 18 Maybe Zack also... Zack: What're ya starin' so hard at a guy's face for? [Ray blushes] ...nah I'm probably overthinking the convenience of it. Zack: Yer face is bright red, ain't it? Still cryin'? Ray: ...don't look! Last page [Now that she knows the taste of love, she cannot go back to the wise girl she once was] Omake: Zack: Ray suddenly started the waterworks [blah blah] Her emotions are pretty unstable... BUT I HAVE NO CLUE WHY SHE'S CRYIN'!!! [blah blah] [yeah] And she's talkin' too much! [blah blah] [yeah] Seems like a pain to interrupt her an' ask... But I can at least be a yes-man, I guess... Ray: But I don't regret it!          It hurts if you do that... Zack: IS THAT ALL THIS IS ABOUT!!?          Don't freak me out like that, dammit! [End!]

[orderuponthe99prettygrimmdiaries]

So close, yet still so far.

Well, I did say it in my last post, right? Be a man. Stop calling. But ooof, gotta say, it hurts bad. But maybe a little less than the uncertainty. 

I kinda pride myself on the relationships I have with people. I feel good when people trust me enough to confide in me, to tell me stuff they don’t usually tell others... 

I also hate losing relationships or seeing friendships fade away. And I know, that’s dumb and something I gotta learn to deal with. And I thought I was okay with that, I thought I already learnt this lesson. People come and go, nothing really lasts forever. It’s just part of life. 

Ugh, so why does it hurt so damn bad? I think really now, it’s becoming more set in stone that neither of us are going to do anything about it. I know I won’t, not anytime soon at least. I gotta put me first. At least I’m not feeling any sort of guilt now since he was the one who left me on read. Granted, it was kinda drifting off, but well... Y’know, I realised maybe my honesty the other day really was just the dealbreaker. Maybe there were a lot of dealbreakers already but I was still trying and he was being a little too courteous. 

But we have a saying in mandarin “勉强没有幸福” - which basically means if you try and force something too hard, you wouldn’t be happy. 

There’s so much I wish I could have done differently. But sometimes, anxiety gets in the way, depression gets in the way. We met at a bad timing, maybe if it weren’t for COVID, things could have gone differently. Then work stress also piled up, all the change in personnel and then workload and being burned out. No proper rests with the schedule, even if so, you might still end up working on your day off. And when you’re back in office, it’s just store work basically all day till even past 6pm and then you stay back to finish your other work. 

I’m really trying to be thankful that I still have a job in spite of the pandemic, but ooof, the exhaustion these days is also... My mental health had taken a toll, and I didn’t even realise till too late. I was always crying, overwhelmed. Couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t even breathe. It sucks when you can’t even do the most basic of things. I’ve started relying on focusing my smell on things - mints, essential oils... I try not to complain and rant too much about everything, but I guess it got bottled up, all the way up to the brink. 

I started overthinking, dwelling, worrying about everything, the little things. That one time I wanted to treat everybody for lunch and drinks, the other time I brought cookies, and I couldn’t mouth the words to tell them. The insecurities, the fear. The What Ifs. 

But, there were also good days. Days where I’m just like, okay, suck it in. You got this. You can just brave on your mask and then be all positive and sunshine, spread that love and positivity and kindness. It works sometimes, but I don’t think it lasts very long either. That’s also another thing... Sometimes I do admire people who can put on a brave front despite everything, and I think I’m that person sometimes, but other days, I’m just falling apart and I can feel my vibes affecting people around me. I absolutely hate that. But if I don’t allow myself to show how I truly feel, aren’t I just wearing a mask all the time? 

Sometimes I just wish I could re-meet him. Just start over. I think I was so afraid to fall for him that I didn’t allow myself to feel. And maybe it led me to suppress that once I allowed them in, it just overwhelmed me. I was so afraid to show him my darker sides, I was afraid to speak up. Maybe he would have been supportive and understanding... But also, it’s a little tough sometimes to open your heart like that, especially with someone you’re interested in. Which actually, maybe, all the more I should have, if I wanted to share my life with him. 

There were times it was easy to flirt with him, to make a move and even ask him out. I mean, considering it was me who asked him for our date/meet up. Also, was it a date? Anyhoo, I think at some point, I was more afraid to commit rather than facing rejection. Rejection, that’s just me having to pick myself back up and mend this broken heart again, and I do have faith I have the strength to do so over time, with the support of the people around me. But, commitment... I’m afraid that I would hurt the other person, especially unknowingly. Maybe that’s why I have this habit of withdrawing and distancing if I feel someone has intentions to be more than friends with me. 

We’ve said it was fate that we met. We’ve also said we’ll leave it up to fate to see where it goes. I think we did both fight for a little at least. Maybe not at the same time, maybe not at the same effort. But I believe we did try? Maybe we could have done better, I could have done better. 

But well, fate has other plans perhaps. 

We were rather different anyway, but yet similar. It’s so strange. Sometimes it felt he was so right for me, but yet so wrong... I’m probably never gonna get the chance to say this to him, but I really appreciate the time and effort he spent talking and initiating convos. Maybe it was the bare minimum at times, and it was just always small talk about food and work, sometimes about nothing really, I enjoyed it. I loved listening to his voice - calming, comforting, probably why I always wanted to hear it when I was falling apart... I loved that he showed me the different perspectives, when I was stressed and upset, he would focus on the good. Maybe not in all aspects, but I felt he did push me, motivate me to be a better person. 

Yet another almost-relationship. Sigh. Will I ever find love someday?

But well, there’s quite a lot of lessons learnt here, I suppose. Made the mistake of creating a version of who I expect him to be, vs who he actually is. And also maybe we focused too much on trying to date, rather than being friends. Also learning that I need to be more open and honest about some stuff, and don’t be too afraid to feel my feelings. It’s tough because I think when I open my heart, sometimes I open up a little too much, but well, when you block out the negative emotions, you block out the positive too. 

Meanwhile, keeping this a little more private between us too. I truly appreciate all the advice given by friends, but it got a little conflicting at some point with too many opinions. But that’s on me. I do love how supportive my friends are, and how much they try to look out for me. Even when things got bad, even when it’s down the same shit cycle, they stayed. Well, I guess some had to take a step back, but that’s understandable too. 

I think it’s time for me to take a step back too. No one can save you, unless you choose to save yourself. I’ve been trying to bring back the focus to me, to do things that used to bring me joy. Also, trying to spread the love and kindness to friends, something I’ve missed doing since I’ve been distancing myself. 

But of course, apart from loving the people around me, it’s time to find my self-love and self-care again. Was watching Enchanted with my friend yesterday, and there was this line, “how can i like someone who doesn’t like themselves”. I’m still conflicted about this line honestly, because I understand it’s tough to find self-love sometimes that we rely on external love, but yes, self-love is also so damn important. But I also remember seeing this, not really sure where now, that - when two people come together in a relationship, they should both be happy with themselves, then coming together as one. A complementary relationship, not a reliant one. 

Sometimes I think I have such high expectations for myself that I don’t wanna mess up in the slightest way. Which in turn, messes shit up. It’s funny, on one hand, it’s like I try to be the best I can be, but I’m also a pretty low maintenance, don’t give a shit person. And sometimes I do try hard to be there for people, just so they won’t have to feel the way I feel. I find it tough to say no, because I would feel bad or sorry. 

But like my friend says, I need to stop feeling bad and sorry. Sometimes we gotta put ourselves first. This was also a lesson I forgot. Sometimes we gotta be selfish. We can’t always set ourselves on fire to give others warmth. 

And well, to end off, also came across this insta story about “Best Way to Get Over Someone”, like damn, even Insta knows. So basically... 

Focus on you 

Get Busy 

Let it all in and accept that it happened and grow from it 

Reaffirm things that make you feel satisfied/happy and find yourself again 

You’re not to blame. Now it’s time to focus on you. Love yourself. Remember, it takes 2 hands to clap 

It’s been nice getting back to writing again. I really do write best when emotional. So yep, time to take a step back and focus on me. Figure out how to love and care for myself again. Let myself feel those feelings, as much as it hurts, as much as it sucks, but better than keeping it all bottled up and not sure when it’ll overflow. 

So, a reminder for anyone out there who’s reading this, remember to take a step back and take some time for you. You’ve got this! Take care and stay safe. Lots of love! 

X

[suworkbook]

All non SU blogs are tagged with ‘notsuwb’. If you’re here for one thing and one thing only, you can use that tag to block!

The blog was temporarily terminated yesterday, but we have risen again. 

I would love to! And I’d love to do more books too. I’d have to see where things shake out in terms of time, (or maybe just get a new catch-all liveblog for books...) but if anyone wants to commission me to read more in the meantime, my Patreon will have a slot open in October!

I made a list of... 10 theories/questions that Serious Steven raised for me. I didn’t mention them in the episode, because I was getting pretty loopy there for a while. But I have them written down (have not evaluated their goodness/badness yet).

Thank you... I think. Haha for the strawberries specifically, the Beatles song seems fairly obvious, imo. Then my friend @heropantii​ (who is 1/5 of the reason this blog exists, please hate her if you have to) got very exited about old Swedish movies and we spent twenty minutes reliving our dopest days of college. And this blog has been cursed ever since that moment.

But in terms of theorising in general, I approach it by imagining that every line and moment is important. I don’t necessarily consider overthinking to be bad. At least, not at this point. I’m not ready to make a closing argument on what SU is, so all I’m doing now is generating questions. Some of them will turn out to be relevant, some won’t. We’re info gathering so that when this liveblog is finally done, we can choose which parts feel convincing and which ones feel like a stretch.  

So there’s a couple of levels to play with this. At its most basic, there’s taking each 10 minute episode as a contained story. Serious Steven is a story about repeating patterns, going in circles, changing your perspective, trusting your gut in order to break away from the way you’ve been doing things. The meat and bones. The stuff that you can make sound reasonable in the rush of a liveblog (if it’s not 1 in the morning and you’re too old to be up that late).

Then there’s the slightly more abstract stuff. The big lore. The way the episode structures itself. The art, the direction. What is the episode setting up for the longer series. The murals and the battlefield. So you think okay, why is this story about patterns set in this environment and told by jumping forward and backwards through time? It could be coincidence or it could be deliberate. And you can generate theories from this point: 

Could the episode be hinting that Rose had the same frustrating, circular experience on that battlefield as Steven had? 

Is it telling us something about her enemy's battle strategy, that it sent her in circles, turning her back on herself until she lost all perspective with the war? 

Is it raising questions about the nature of war itself, that those who don’t remember their history are doomed to repeat it over and over? 

Is it a reminder not to take the impermanence at face value, to realise that just because you’ve changed position and perspective, it doesn’t necessarily mean you’ve gone anywhere? Just because the battlefield has turned to strawberries doesn’t mean there isn’t still pain lurking there, waiting to catch you when you trip up (and our Gems never trip, but if they do one day, there’s probably gonna be something worse than butterflies waiting for them). 

Is it commentary that the generation after you won’t give one single shit about your magnificent sacrifices, because they don’t understand how it’s relevant to their lives? 

And on and on. Some of these options are more likely than others, but they’re all questions we can consider as we keep watching.

And then there’s the free association category, which is just little fun what ifs. What if the strawberry field is a reference to other famous strawberry fields? What similarities do these works have? What could have relevance to the show, if we go down that route? What do other sources, other theories, other frameworks have to say about war, time, regret, parenthood, history, and could those things be present in these works in a way that informs or enriches our way of thinking about it? 

So yeah, that’s the patented Taz approach to life.

I do miss my summaries. I may just defy nearly every single person in my audience and go back to them. The one for Bubble Buddies is ‘Steven is a hero when he builds a glass bubble around a girl he likes, but then he can’t figure out how to break the bubble’. I mean come on! That is brilliant. Maybe instead of all that theorising above I should just summarise every episode with my own slightly right but painfully wrong netflix-esque caption. 

[lloydskywalkers]

skywalker syndrome

-and its resulting karma, ahaha

Coming in late to the party here, but this Lloyd-gets-a-robot-arm is the good stuff, you guys. Good enough to drag me from homework for 7K words worth of rambling, apparently. And hngh I know that it’s movie-verse but I just. I had an idea for the show, and it wouldn’t let go of me so here’s! this disaster, mostly spawned from my excessive reading of FMA fics back in the day. 

(Takes place during season 9, btw!)

It’s nearing the height of dusk when the scream rings out across the city, the sky a midnight blue behind the smoky streaks left from fires as the agonized cry echoes loudly across the empty, near-haunted streets, reverberating from building to half-wrecked building. Ronin stiffens at the sound, his hands clenching sharply around the hilt of the knife tucked in his belt. He goes still, the tail end of the scream slowly fading around him where he stands half-hidden in the alley, shrouded in the darkness left by the shattered street lights.

The group of bikers he’s hiding from seem to take a similar reaction, their normal manic expressions replaced by the same alarm, the same looks of discomfort Ronin knows he wears as the hairs on his neck crawl. There are several exchanged glances, a burst of rude chatter, and the Sons of Garmadon are gone, racing back down the streets with a roar of engines as loud as they came with.

Ronin exhales, letting his hand stray from the knife. He’s never been one to avoid risks, but in a time like this, cutting it close is a little too close for him. He ought to keep a better eye out as he heads back.

He spares one last glance at the darkened sky, his thoughts straying to the scream. While it’s not uncommon to hear a cry echo out across Ninjago City, especially in these days, there was something undeniably eerie about this one, a sinking kind of dread that claws at Ronin’s heart even now that it’s long-faded.

He swallows, shaking off the feeling best he can. Whoever they are, he can only hope they either escaped or met a quick, painless end. Either way, it’s not his problem.

He really should have known better, with the crowd he hangs out with.

********

“M’sorry.”

“It’s not your fault — Pixal, help me, I’m losing my grip-“

“Sorry.”

“Here, grab his ar-“ There’s a sharp, shaking inhale. “Just hold him up, we’re almost back to the warehouse-“

“M’sorry, Nya-“

“Stop apologizing and stay awake, just —! Pixal, can you - hey, no no no, eyes on me, okay?”

“S’my fault.”

“I said eyes on me!”

********

It’s Lloyd’s own stupid fault, that’s what it comes down to.

Not that everything going horribly-pear-shaped wrong due to a classic Lloyd screw-up is anything new, but Nya’s trying her best to push that it’s not, and Lloyd appreciates it, but this time, it actually, truly, very-much-without-a-doubt is his fault.

“Five minutes,” Ronin growls, stalking through the warehouse. “I leave for five minutes, and - and this happens?”

He gestures wildly at Lloyd, who’s still lying half-trapped in Nya’s embrace and is unlikely to escape anytime soon. Skylor glares at him.

“Keep it down,” she says, her voice hushed but strained. “We didn’t have anything to sedate him with.”

Ronin swears, but the horror’s more evident in his voice now. He gives the busted table chair a half-hearted kick, before collapsing wearily in it, grinding a palm against his eyes. “How’s he holding up?”

Lloyd feels a gentle hand card through his hair, and his heart hurts at how he can feel Nya’s fingers still trembling.

“He’s alive,” Nya breathes, small and quiet. “That’s what matters.”

“The surgery was successful at halting the bleeding,” Pixal murmurs from somewhere to his right. “That’s the best we can do for now.”

There’s a choked sob nearby, which Lloyd recognizes as his mother. Mystake’s gravelly tones pick up, though her words don’t entirely make it through the cloudy haze that’s settled in Lloyd’s brain. He frowns — or tries to, he thinks — when his mouth won’t move. He wants to tell them that he’s fine. It doesn’t hurt that much anymore, really. There’s a constant ache, and if he moves there’s a seventy percent chance he’s gonna break down crying, but compared to the fiery agony from earlier, this is nothing. He feels off-balance if anything, like someone’s shifted him too far to one side. Lighter, like he’s lost some heavy weight that used to be there.

Lloyd frowns, and he feels his eyebrows moving this time. He strains, trying to pull his right arm closer. He’s met with that off-balance feeling again, except this time there’s an odd kind of emptiness. His frown grows deeper, and he tries to move his fingers, to get his right hand to move-

“Hey, it’s okay, go back to sleep.” Nya’s voice is soft and familiar, comforting in a way only Nya is, and Lloyd feels her hand in his hair again. “I’ve got you, okay? Just go back to sleep.”

Lloyd wants to protest, but he lets it go, exhaustion pulling him back under. A nagging part of him fights it, wondering why there’s an undercurrent of heartbreak in Nya’s voice. Wonders why his mother was sobbing, why Ronin was so angry, why Pixal kept going on about a surger-

Lloyd’s eyes snap open. He stares blankly up at the ceiling of the warehouse, memory crashing back down on him with all the subtle force of a wrecking ball.

Oh yeah, he thinks dully, as he stops trying to move his right arm.

He doesn’t have one anymore.

*****

“You know, out of everyone, I think you’re the best with handling stitches.”

Nya doesn’t look up from his ar— from his…shoulder, but she gives a quiet hum of acknowledgement.

“Like, it’s not that hard a competition, ‘cause Kai always looks like he’s gonna puke instead, Cole an’ Zane seem like they’re gonna start crying, and Jay’s more likely to sew his sleeve to you instead, but still.”

Nya finally snorts at that, and Lloyd feels the darkened, crushing weight that’s made itself at home on his chest lift a little bit.

“Cole’s actually better at it,” she says quietly, carefully dragging the antiseptic-soaked cloth over the wound again. “I get pretty emotional sometimes too.”

“Well—” Lloyd trips over his own tongue as something in his shoulder sears hot, and he tries to hide the flinch (Nya’s looked sad enough recently). “I still think you’re the best. And that’s not a knock on you, uh, being a girl and stuff, since this is technically sewing, you know, and that’s usually-“

“Let it go while you’re ahead, green machine,” but Nya’s smiling for real this time. She gives him a look. “Besides, we all know you’re the best seamstress after Zane. I saw what you did with your uniform.”

“M’not a seamstress,” Lloyd argues. “I’m a…seamst-er? That sounds wrong…”

Nya shakes her head in amusement, and, to Lloyd’s eternal relief, finally begins to wrap the bandages around what’s left of his upper arm.

There’s not much. Lloyd swallows thickly, finally sparing it a glance now that the actual wound’s hidden from view. There’s his shoulder, there’s the end of it, there’s some bandages, and then—

Nothing. Just empty space.

The warm weight of Nya’s hand finds his own (his only), squeezing briefly. “It is hurting again?”

Lloyd shakes his head. “No,” he says. It’s not entirely a lie. The weight sitting on his chest hurts a lot more.

Nya hesitates, her breath hitching. “Are you hurting again?”

Lloyd pauses, looking down at where his legs hang over the edge of the table. He plays the look on her face that night over again in his head, the shaking of her hands. Lloyd shakes his head.

“No,” he says, pasting a smile across his lips. “I’m fine.”

Nya doesn’t look like she believes him, but that’s alright. Lloyd doesn’t really know if he does, himself.

******

The thing nobody seems to get is that he brought this entirely on himself. Like, yeah, it was terrible and painful and Lloyd’s got so much blood left on his uniform he may as well be Kai at this point, and he’s probably gonna have to make some drastic adjustments to his fighting style — definitely will, because his fighting style won’t even work anymore, the arm he’d hold his katana with is gone now, and FSM he’s gonna have to learn how to do everything again-

Inhale. Deep breath. Freaking out isn’t going to make it better.

Lloyd exhales shakily, and his heart rate returns to something a little more manageable.

So. Anyways. It’s Lloyd’s fault, and that means he doesn’t get to curl up in a corner so no one can see him trying not to cry over the fact that he can’t get his stupid armor strap to buckle with one hand.

Lloyd bites his lip furiously, fingers — he’s only got five of them now, looks like he’s finally gonna have to learn how to do math in his head — fumbling clumsily with the strap, leather slipping through his hold as the strap falls loose. He tightens his grip on it, bringing his knee up to — to try and pin it down, maybe he can — teeth, maybe? Whatever it takes to get this strap to stay still, because the hand he’d usually use to hold it is — is—

Lloyd sniffs miserably, then wipes furiously at his eyes. Don’t, he tells himself viciously. Don’t cry. He can’t cry, he doesn’t get to, not when he knows what the alternative is. Really, in contrast, losing his arm is — it’s—

Well, it’s not great. It’s definitely not something Lloyd’s ever had on his bucket list, that’s for sure, but it’s what he ended up with. It’s just like the Tomorrow’s Tea, like the responsibility of murdering his dad, like Uncle Wu suddenly dropping team leadership out of the sky and into his lap. Lloyd sure as heck didn’t want it, but it’s what he got, so he’s gotta deal with it. No use in overthinking the what-ifs or unfairs.

It would, of course, be a little easier to put up with if it’d stop hurting so much. Lloyd grits his teeth against the throbbing ache, too-sharp incisors digging into his lip. He forces his jaw to relax before he cuts his lip again, and gives a sharp exhale instead. It’s just in his head — the pain’s just in his head, he reminds himself. There’s no arm there to ache in the first place, even if he swears he can still feel the limb, still feel the ache in his elbow, his wrist, his fingers that aren’t freaking there anymore-

“Phantom limb,” Pixal tells him clinically, after having dragged him from his hidden corner of self-pity and general loathing of the universe on the whole. “It’s normal for amputees.”

“Oh.” Lloyd bites his lip again, staring at the empty space where his arm should be, trying to force back the blurring in his eyes. He appreciates that Pixal’s being straight up with him — that she’s not looking at him with that heartbroken sort of pity, trying to soften every word like she’s talking to a wild animal about to bolt, he really does. But it just-

Amputee. His arm’s really gone for good, huh. Weird seems like too underwhelming a word, but that’s all Lloyd’s brain is giving him right now. It doesn’t hurt, exactly, it’s more like a numb sort of blunt shock that keeps socking him in the head every time he thinks about it. But that’s alright, he tells himself. It’s just gonna take some adjustment. He’d known this. He’d known exactly what he was getting himself into he made his choice.

So he can get over it already. He’s fine. He doesn’t really have the time not to be, he thinks, as the crashing sounds of the Colossi echo from the TV set again.

He also really, really needs to get better at pasting that smile on his face. Because while Lloyd might be fine, the, uh….the accident hasn’t exactly been a great motivational point for their little resistance. Nya tries her very best not to cry but ends up sobbing into Lloyd’s empty sleeve anyways, because she tried to hold his hand when Pixal re-did the stitches and she realized it wasn’t there, then promptly broke into a steadily-devolving stream of “I should have protected you!” sort of shtick Lloyd is used to hearing from Kai.

His mom starts crying the minute she sees him and Lloyd’s pretty sure she hasn’t stopped since. Lloyd would try to comfort her more, but the last time he tried that, he panicked and resorted to making terrible puns about arms, which he’s pretty sure just made her start crying harder. Pixal swings back and forth between nagging at him to take better care of the wound and rattling off other accounts she’s read from people who’ve lost limbs with an almost desperate sort of intensity, stressing that the transition is going to be hard at first, but once they get the prosthetic made and he’s used it for a while, he’ll be able to do everything he could before, she promises-

The other elemental masters have been keeping a respectful distance, which Lloyd is really hoping is just because they want to give him space, and not because they think he’s completely lost his marbles.

Skylor and Ronin are the only two with reactions that don’t make Lloyd feel like a walking-worst-human-ever. Skylor’s got that tough sort of determinedness Lloyd recognizes a little too well, and she actually appreciates the arm puns — they’ve got a list they’re making to try out on Kai when he gets back, ‘cause FSM knows they’re gonna need some tension-breaking one-liners for that reunion. Ronin treats him about how he always has, which Lloyd appreciates more than words, but he also helps because he gets the visceral desperation that drives you to take insane lengths to come out on top sometimes.

None of that, of course, changes the fact that Lloyd now has to live with the reality that he effectively Luke Skywalker-ed himself, but he figures that was pretty much an inevitability with the way his life was going, anyways.

******

“Hey,” Nya speaks up, half-bent over the metal in her lap. “You, uh, you remember Star Wars?”

Lloyd gives her a blank look from where he sits cross-legged on the table. “Do I remember Star Wars,” he says, flatly. “No, I don’t remember Jay making Darth Vader noises at me for two months straight, or hearing ‘Lloyd I am your father’ eight thousand times a day-“

“Alright, geez, point taken,” Nya says. “When’d you become such a snarky little brat?”

“When my dad chucked me through a wall,” Lloyd mutters, darkly.

“Pretty sure you were one before that, but okay,” Nya says, breezing through Lloyd’s mood-killer statement like only Nya can. “Anyways, remember the end of Empire Strikes Back? Everything’s kinda terrible, because they lost Han and the Falcon keeps messing up, and Luke is-“

“Luke lost a hand,” Lloyd interrupts, narrowing his eyes at her. He’d figured out where she was going with this the minute she mentioned Star Wars, but still. “Do you see this?” He gestures at his right shoulder, which pretty much just ends in his right shoulder. “This is an entire arm. Luke had it way better, he got to keep like — he got to keep his elbow, and his, um, whatever you call the bones in your upper arm-“

“Are you trying to invalidate Luke Skywalker’s hand loss?” Nya says.

“No, I’m saying he at least had it a little better, because his dad neatly sliced his hand off, instead of releasing an ancient snake on him that eventually ended in Luke chopping the entirety of his own arm off like a crazy person.”

“You definitely had crazy in your eyes,” Nya mutters. She blows her breath out, then pins him with a look. “Look, I know we’ve — we’ve talked about this, but if you ever— if you ever try anything like that again-“

“Next time I’m planning on sending a katana through my arm, I’ll give you five minutes’ warning, promise.”

Nya whacks him solidly across the head. Lloyd yelps, throwing his arms up in defense —

Whoops, he thinks blankly, as he starts toppling off the table, any sense of balance lost completely. He doesn’t have an arm on that side, so if he moves like that, he’s gonna send himself-

Lloyd hits the floor with an oof, just barely bringing his good arm up in time to protect his face. His armless side, on the other hand, is not so lucky.

“Lloyd!” Nya’s yelp is punctuated by the sound of metal clattering to the ground, and she’s at his side before he can push himself back into a semi-dignified stance.

“M’okay,” he says, finally maneuvering himself into a sitting position, desperately trying not to jostle his right side more. “Just - ow - banged it up a little.”

He tries to stand up, only to lose his balance again, wavering briefly before he stumbles back to the floor. Lloyd hisses in frustrated pain, curling in on himself. Ow, ow, ow, why’d he have to land on that side-

“Here.” Nya’s hand is gentle on his back as she eases him up, the other kneading into the muscles of his shoulder just above what’s left of his mangled arm. Lloyd feels himself relax a bit, the pain ebbing slightly.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, arm still wrapped around himself.

Nya squeezes his shoulder, and Lloyd hears more than sees her take a seat next to him, her knee bumping his.

“It’s like Star Wars,” she repeats, sounding as lost as he feels, while trying to convince herself she’s not. “Everything’s terrible right now, but it’s — it’s gonna work out fine in the end.”

“Yeah,” Lloyd says, following her gaze where she stares up at the window high above them. “Just like Star Wars.”

…well, he hopes it’s not exactly like Star Wars. He really doesn’t wanna test out what’s left of his father’s moral integrity while getting electrocuted to death.

Garmadon would probably just let him die, anyways.

*******

It could be his father’s fault. He’s the one who brought the snake into it.

Lloyd doesn’t know where he got it — maybe Harumi decided to go the full nine yards and resurrect the Great Devourer while she was on a roll. It’d be a weird choice, because it kinda murdered her parents, but with what Lloyd’s seen of her, he wouldn’t put it past her ambition for destroying literally everything she can get her hands on.  

In all honesty, though, it’s probably not even the Great Devourer. His mom’s betting on a lost descendent or overlooked relative, and Ronin’s got money on Garmadon having cooked up some twisted version of it just to get the jump on them. Skylor seemed a little green at both ideas, and Nya had simply said it didn’t matter which it was, nothing was gonna stop her from mounting its head as a decorative wall display.

Pixal’s the only one Lloyd really listened to, though, because she was the one to confirm that his actions hadn’t been in vain. She was the to look him dead in the eye, vivid green meeting his dull red, and tell him that there wasn’t a trace of venom that had spread beyond his arm.

Lloyd hadn’t heard Mystake’s echoing confirmation, but that’s probably because he’d been crying, which seems to be an inconvenient habit he’s picked up since he hacked his own arm off.

The very idea of it is definitely Lloyd’s fault, probably for watching so many zombie movies with Kai at two in the morning. The dumb part is that he’d actually been winning, he’d been this close to getting some mediocre sort of revenge on Harumi, when he’d felt the sharp, twin stabs of pain on his hand mid-strike, looked down to see a horrifyingly familiar serpent with its fangs locked around his the pale skin of his hand, and frozen.

The next thirty seconds went a little something like this:

Lloyd tries not to scream. He knows what this means, because there’s a giant stupid chunk of his life that’s revolved around this kind of snake. There is no small amount of terror associated with this knowledge.

So his mind rationalizes — the snake bite is like a zombie bite. He’s been infected. When you get infected in a zombie movie, you cut the infected limb off, so you don’t become a dead-brained flesh-devouring monster.

There are five seconds for debate. Lloyd doesn’t want to cut a limb off, but he doesn’t want to become a dead-brained flesh-devouring monster either.

What follows is a bit of a panicked blur. Lloyd looks down at his hand and sees the dark purple venom spreading through the veins. Lloyd looks at the sword in his other hand. Lloyd has a brief, vivid image of himself with his father’s face, laughing cruelly as he tries to crush everyone he loves to tiny bits. The next thing he knows, his sword is a whole lot bloodier, his right side feels several pounds lighter, Harumi looks like she’s about to throw up, and Lloyd is suddenly in a rather intense amount of pain.

Nya tells him that it was one of the worst moments of her life, but she does admit that for a brief, half a second’s time, the look of absolute terror on Harumi’s face at seeing Lloyd hack his own arm off with all the casualness in the world was the best thing she’s seen this year.

Someone could’ve at least taken a picture, he thinks dully. What’s the point of severing your own limb in front of your enemy if you aren’t even gonna get the satisfaction of seeing them scream like a baby about it?

******

Nya decides to stay up all night making the final adjustments to the prosthetic, so Lloyd stays up with her. He’s more hindrance then help, flinging suggestions at her every few minutes. Nya rolls her eyes at him way more than he deserves, though — because alright, he gets that a side dispenser for making hot chocolate and extra jet engines so he can fly are kinda out of the practical realm, but there’s nothing wrong with a canon for an arm, or hand tasers, or cool laser-shooters like in Fritz Donnegan—

“Except that it’d add way too much weight, and your arm would start bleeding all over the place again.”

“That’s…no it wouldn’t,” Lloyd says, lamely.

“Oh, are you the medical expert now?” Nya raises an eyebrow at him.

“No, but it’s not like you are,” Lloyd raises both eyebrows back, then frowns, expression screwing up as he tries to raise only the one like Nya.

Nya gives a snorting giggle. “Stop trying,” she says, shaking her head even as she smiles. “You’re gonna hurt yourself.”

“How do you even do that, anyways,” Lloyd mutters, abandoning his attempts.

“It’s a genetic and unattainable gift,” Nya says, and Lloyd snorts this time.

“Sure. Is being totally lame genetic too?”

“Apparently being a persistent brat is for you,” Nya sets the wrench down emphatically. “I’m trying to make you something functional, not a full-blown weapon.”

“But I’m a full-blown weapon,” Lloyd argues. Nya doesn’t reply, and Lloyd is suddenly aware of how heavy his words echo in the room, the subtext that kind of sentence has.

Oops. He can’t make one joke without it going sour lately, can he.

“You’re a lot more than that,” Nya says quietly, a slightly-heartbroken look written across her expression. Lloyd bites his lip. Great, now he’s made her sad again.

He looks down, eyes catching on the empty sleeve of the sweatshirt he’s wearing. Lloyd glances surreptitiously up at Nya, then twists his body slightly, tilting it forward. The empty sleeve smacks Nya on the arm once, twice, before she turns a disbelieving look on him.

“Really?”

Lloyd gives her an unapologetic grin. “I need a super cool laser arm in there, Nya.”

She gives a long-suffering sigh, but Lloyd is pleased to spot the amusement on her face, the way her forehead eases out of its furrowed tension. “You’re getting a nice, sturdy, functional arm. That’s all.”

“Oh, come on,” Lloyd pleads. “What if I run into Harumi again? Wouldn’t it be great if like, she tried to grab me, and I zapped her with my high-power arm taser?”

There’s a beat of silence as Nya considers this excellent point. “Arguments…can be made for a taser,” she admits.

Lloyd gives a quiet whoop of victory. He then turns an extra-bright, fully sincere, wide-eyed smile on her. Nya steadily refuses to look at him, but her fingers slow a bit on the wires, and she gives another, weary sigh.

“….I’ll consider the laser hand.”

********

The arm is functional, sleek and shiny and sturdy metal made for battle. Nya, dark circles beneath her eyes as Lloyd tries to shoo her off to bed, hazily promises that she’s gonna make him one that’s more comfortable too, one that’s not for fighting, maybe they can paint a bunch of cool green designs on it, and stuff—

Ronin gets ahold of her by that point, and Pixal takes over the final adjustments while he tosses her on a couch next to Skylor, telling her to make sure she stays. All that’s left after that is for Pixal to attach it, which, for all that Lloyd had been preparing himself for a prosthetic, is something he hadn’t actually thought through.

“In order for it to function, we’ll need to attach it to the nerve endings left in your arm,” Pixal explains, and there’s an apologetic look in her eyes Lloyd really doesn’t like. “I’ll be as gentle as possible, but it will…hurt quite a bit, I’m afraid.”

Understatement of the year. Lloyd makes it through the surgery without passing out, but it’s a close thing.

Once it’s attached, though, he’s pleased to find that it moves how he wants it, the sight of his right fist curling, even if metal, somewhat bizarre. He’s got two arms again. He’s not completely useless anymore, he can fight, he can—

Hurt, apparently. Lloyd can hurt, every movement and every hour, building up into a savage sort of agony where the arm meets the scarred flesh of his shoulder. It’s to be expected, Pixal explains, since everything’s still fresh and tender in there, but Lloyd is sick and tired of being in pain, sick and tired of sleepless nights trying not to scream into his pillow, and no amount of reassurances that it’ll get better soon help with that.

Because the ache doesn’t lessen. With every minute the prosthetic’s on it just gets worse, fiery bolts of pain flaring at the ends of the nerves. It hurts, and Lloyd knew it would, but FSM this is — it’s —

He swallows, flexing the fingers of his good hand — his only real hand — and watches the smooth, unhindered way they move. He looks at the cold metal of the prosthetic, biting back a hiss of pain as he forces the metal fingers to move clumsily. He can barely make the stupid elbow bend without wanting to tear the entire arm off.

…this is a lot harder than he thought it’d be.

Lloyd shifts in his perch high up in the warehouse rafters, listening to the others talking below. He should join them, really, he’s supposed to be the leader here, but…he needs a minute. A minute to adjust, that’s all.

Lloyd leans his head back against the wall, exhaling heavily. He misses when the worst he’d have to worry about was the ache in his ankle when it rained.

And it’s stupid, but Lloyd also finds himself missing like — he misses his fingernails, misses the little tapping sound they’d make, he misses that patch of freckles he had on his forearm and the one weird scar he’d picked up on his index finger, he misses the warmth when he knits his hands together, he misses being able to feel warmth beneath his fingers, and he misses—

Lloyd stares at the metal hand, and feels the icy grip of fear enclosing around his heart again. He hasn’t tried to use his powers yet. Hasn’t even mustered up a spark, not that he could. He doesn’t even have any powers to use, and he might not get them back, so it’s useless to speculate right now.

But what if — if he does, then…can the arm channel it? Will it be able to handle the green power, or will it blow straight up where its attached to him? How’s this gonna affect that?

Lloyd swallows, lowering the clenched metal fist into his lap. Whatever, he thinks dully. It’s not like his power is something he’s gonna need to worry about anytime soon.

********

“Is he dead?”

“Ronin, please-“

“I think he’s dead.”

“Left side, Lloyd,” Nya sighs, hovering over him. “You gotta lead with your left now. Remember?”

Lloyd groans in reply, throwing an arm over his face where he’s sprawled across the training mat. “Ngh.”

Nya hesitates, shifting from her right to left foot. “I didn’t hit you that hard, did I?”

“No, I’m just a dumbas-“

“Lloyd.”

“Dumb, dumb, I’m super dumb, that’s what I was saying.”

“No, you’re not,” Nya says, grabbing his arm — the good one — and hauling him to his feet. “You just keep forgetting to lead with your left side.”

“Yeah, you said that,” Lloyd mutters, rubbing his side. He rolls his shoulder, wincing at the aching pain in the prosthetic that he’s slowly becoming familiar with. The ache’s finally lessened, though — it isn’t in constant agony as often, and he’s starting to sleep more than two hours at a time.

“Then do it.”

Lloyd gives her a plaintively pouting look, and Nya rolls her eyes. “Puppy eyes aren’t gonna cut in in battle.”

Lloyd huffs. “I’ve led with my right side my whole life,” he defends. “Besides, isn’t the point of this—“ he waves the metal arm aloft, trying not to wince at the unfamiliar added weight. “—so that I can hit with my right side?”

“Yes, eventually,” Nya says, eyeing Lloyd’s movements, and he shifts the arm self-consciously. “But you’re barely able to move it above your shoulders now, much less throw a hit with it.”

Lloyd scowls. “I can throw a hit with it.”

Nya raises an eyebrow, and ooh, Lloyd knows that look. “Then prove it,” she says.

“Uh oh,” Skylor mutters beneath her breath. Pixal looks between the two of them in alarm. Ronin makes an odd noise that sounds a bit like a laugh.

Lloyd meets Nya’s gaze head-on with his own stubborn glare. “I will.”

“Uh oh,” Skylor repeats. Pixal steps between them, looking even more concerned. “I don’t believe this is a good idea, Lloyd’s arm is still-“

“Alright then,” Nya says, ignoring the others. She steps past the training mat, walking over to the punching bag they’ve strung up. She taps the solid fabric, her nails making an muffled clacking noise. “Show me you can hit someone with it. Show me you can hit them hard.”

Lloyd squares his jaw, stepping over to her. “Fine-“

“And,” Nya continues, louder. “Show me you can hit them without immediately doubling over in pain.”

Lloyd’s breath rushes out in a quiet exhale, and he avoids her eyes. Right, okay. He hasn’t been hiding it as good as he’d thought. Great.

“Fine,” he repeats, more muted this time. He rolls his shoulders, glaring at the bag. He can’t back down now. This isn’t just about him using his right side, this is about Nya ever letting him outside again, about her ever letting him within fifty feet of a battle again. If Lloyd can’t prove that he’s not a walking liability, then Nya’s probably gonna bench him forever. Or at least until the guys are back.

And the thing is, Lloyd would get it. She has reason.

So he’s gotta prove to her, right here, right now, that he can fight. Lloyd’s not worried about possible damage — Nya built the arm, and he already trusts her with his life and more. He is…slightly concerned that he’s about to put himself in a lot of unnecessary pain, but he’ll just have to suck it up. He can cry into his pillow later.

Nya gives a barely audible, weary sigh. “You don’t have to,” she says, quietly.

Lloyd doesn’t reply, squaring back and setting up instead. His jaw clenches as he pulls his arm back, metal fingers curling into a tight fist. Show me you can hit someone, right? Lloyd’s gonna show her he can wreck someone. He doesn’t care about the recoil, he’s gonna give this all he’s got. He’s gonna pour every ounce of frustration and anger and fear into this punch, every last hour spent in pain and every sleepless night because of that pain, every single time he’s felt so stupidly useless because his arm is gone—

Lloyd’s fist slams against the bag, the force rippling back through his arm as he yells, already half-bracing for the rest of the recoil.

It doesn’t come. The weight of the bag gives under Lloyd’s hit with a loud metallic snapping sound, and before he can even finish following through with the strike there’s an thundering crunch of wood, and—

“Holy shit.”

The fact that nobody calls Ronin out on his language is probably a bad sign, Lloyd thinks. He looks up, shaking the mild pain in his shoulder out as he does, and follows everyone else’s gazes. His mouth falls open.

“It wasn’t supposed to do that!” he yelps, staring in horror at where there’s a hole in the wall. He blinks rapidly, realizing that the punching bag’s gone — did he hit it hard enough to do that? Lloyd suddenly wants to curse a lot worse than Ronin. He doesn’t have his powers right now, and even then, he’s not Cole, how in the world did he hit it that hard?

“I believe you made the arm strong enough,” Pixal finally says.

“No duh,” Skylor says, gaping at the shattered chain the bag hung from.

“You sent it through the wall,” Nya says faintly, staring at the hole. “That was one punch. And I was gonna have you start throwing hits at me.”

“Why did you make it this strong?!” Lloyd clutches his metal arm, staring at it in slight terror. “I could kill somebody with this!”

“Yes,” Nya nods. Lloyd gapes at her. Why does she sound satisfied with that? Nya looks at the splintered wall, then back to Lloyd, he eyes raking over his arm.

“Okay,” she says, shaking her head and grinning. “You win. Lead with your right side this time.”

Lloyd glances at the metal arm, then back up at Nya, wide-eyed. “I’ll, uh, I’ll save that for Harumi, I think,” he says, weakly. “Let’s go left side.”

Nya snorts, but her expression is lighter than it’s been in days. “Alright then, green machine,” she says, bringing her arms up in a fighting stance. “Show me what you got.”

Lloyd brings his own arms up, and feels a thrill of excitement as he doesn’t immediately stumble off-balance from the weight difference. “Oh I’ll show you,” he grins. “I’ll take you down.”

Lloyd is, in fact, the one that gets taken down, but for the twenty full minutes he’s able to hold his own against Nya, the added strength of the arm giving him an advantage that almost outweighs the disadvantage the pain adds, Lloyd feels like he might just have a chance.

********

“Hey, hey Nya.”

A sigh. “Yes, Lloyd?”

“I’m going on live TV for this speech thing.”

“I’m aware.”

“Everyone’s going to see me with it.”

“…yeah. You okay with that?”

“Oh, yeah. I was just gonna say that it’s extremely important to me.”

“What is?”

“That I show up on the TV with a totally kick-ass dragon arm.”

Another, longer sigh.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

*********

Lloyd is starting to suspect that he may be repressing things. Maybe, just a bit.

Not that he hasn’t repressed stuff before — he’s currently repressing the ten tons worth of high-pitched screaming into the void that came along with Harumi bringing his dad back as a hollow shell, and he’s been doing fine with that one. Lloyd’s a pro at repressing stuff. If he wasn’t the Green Ninja, he’d have been like, the elemental master of repressing your emotions until you don’t even know why you’re crying in the shower this time.

But the fact that he’s lost an entire arm and has yet to fully experience any kind of overwhelming reaction about it is…probably concerning. Like yeah, he’s been frustrated, he’s been scared, he’s been in pain more often than he’s not and that sucks, but he doesn’t seem to have really had the appropriate reaction to fully losing a limb and all that it entails yet. Or at least that’s what he thinks Nya is trying to tell him.

(And yeah, he gets that she’s concerned, everyone’s concerned about him, when is anybody not concerned about Lloyd and his idiotic life decisions, but—)

Naturally, it’s going to be during this conversation that he hits his breaking point.

“Look, I know it’s second nature and that zero of the guys have been any kind of good example, but you’ve got to drop the blame-yourself, brood-in-silent-guilt thing.”

Lloyd hand tightens where he’s gripping the edge of the table, and he feels a sudden urge to yank his arm from Nya’s hold and run.

“I dunno what you’re talking about,” he tries.

She cuts him a look. “Really? You’re gonna lie to me too?”

Lloyd whips his head away, staring resolutely at the wall furthest from him. “It was my fault,” he finally says, his voice thin in the quiet of the little room they’re hiding out in. “So that’s that."

Nya exhales tiredly, the sound of someone who’s heard something one too many times. Lloyd feels a kind of hot frustration spark in his gut at the sound.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“Yes it was,” Lloyd grinds out, angrier than he means to be. “It’s my fault — I’m the one who cut it off, Nya—”

“You didn’t have a choice,” she snaps back. There’s an angry sort of sheen building in her eyes, and Lloyd hates himself. “It was that or the venom, he didn’t leave you any other opti-“

Something snaps in Lloyd’s chest, and he feels control slip through his hands like a fine stream of water.

“It’s my. Fault!” he bursts out at her, and Nya looks taken aback. Lloyd can’t stop himself — he doesn’t know why he’s so upset about this, he doesn’t know why this is so important, but there’s something wild clawing at his chest screaming that it has to be his fault, it has to be—

“It was my choice!” he continues shrilly, breathing harder than he does in training. “I was the one who decided to cut it off, I was the one who chose not to be like him, it was my choice, not Garmadon’s, mine, stop trying to take that away from me—!”

Lloyd’s rant cuts off in a sob, and he stumbles from the table, yanking the arm to him and trying to force back the raging emotion that’s broken loose. Nya stares at him with wide eyes, frozen in shock. Realization breaks across her face like a tidal wave, and her eyes soften, her expression shifting into something that makes Lloyd want to cry harder. He quickly turns away, frantically scrubbing at his eyes as he tries to get himself under control. This is terrible, this is humiliating, Lloyd is a disgrace to the Green Ninja and everything that everyone’s done to make sure he’s gotten this far, but—

Lloyd chokes on another sob. It’s just like the tea, it’s just like the stupid tea. Everyone tried to tell him that he didn’t have a choice then too, insisting that potential death doesn’t really give you much of a choice, and Lloyd couldn’t get them to see — he couldn’t get them to see that it was his choice. Just like Lloyd made the choice to cut his arm off instead of falling to the same cursed blood his father did. Those were his choices, those were Lloyd’s decisions, he made them himself, and that’s important because - because -

Because if Lloyd didn’t have the choice to grow older, if he didn’t have the choice to become the Green Ninja, if he really hasn’t had a choice in anything like that — then what kind of life does that leave him with?

“Okay.”

Lloyd’s head snaps up, and he looks at Nya through watery eyes.

“Okay,” she repeats, gently. “It was your choice. I agree.”

Something a little too dizzying to be relief swoops through him, and Lloyd slumps back against the table, his side hitting it a bit too hard as he breathes out shakily, wiping at his eyes.

“Okay,” he echoes, his voice thick.

“But—“ Nya takes a step closer to him, but she doesn’t touch him. She looks hesitant, but her jaw is set in that stubborn sort of determination Nya always has. “That doesn’t mean it’s all your fault. You…you have your choice. Let Garmadon own up to his, too.”

Lloyd can’t meet her eyes for that one, but he doubts it’d make a difference anyways, because they keep blurring over so much. Which is ridiculous, because how does Lloyd even have enough hydration left to keep crying all over the place like this—

Nya blows her breath out, and leans up against the table next to him, her shoulder just brushing his left one. Lloyd shifts his hold on the metal arm, and lets the tension in his shoulders ease, leaning into her.

“And for what it’s worth?”

Lloyd looks at Nya, and she gives him a crooked smile.

“I don’t love it, obviously, and if you ever try that again, I’ll — well, you know, but…I think you might’ve made the right choice.”

Lloyd’s humiliated himself enough today, but he can’t stop his eyes from flooding over again.

“Thank you,” he croaks, and Nya grabs his shoulder, pulling him to her so their heads bump briefly together.

“You’re Lloyd,” she tells him. “Not Garmadon. You’re my brother, and you’re good.”

She shakes her head, giving a wet laugh.

“You’re too stubborn to be anything other than that, clearly.”